Stick to Your Guns
by Storywriter55
Summary: The newlyweds work through their first major disagreement and Neal comes clean about a secret from his past. (13 months)
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Just the sight of her cracked me up every single time. No matter what I was doing, if she was in the room, I couldn't keep my eyes off her. Ever since she'd come into our lives thirteen months earlier, my first thought every morning when I woke up and the last before I went to sleep, were of her: those mischievous, inquisitive blue eyes, those soft dark curls, the constant chatter peppered with the odd recognizable word, the way her nose got crinkly just before she let loose with those contagious belly laughs.

I never quite got it before. The way people fawned over their kids, how they could talk about them for hours on end, reciting chapter and verse on their latest feat, the new word their toddler had uttered, how cute they were as they waddled through the house, how angelic they looked as they slept.

I sure as hell got it now. She was the sun and the moon and the stars all wrapped into one amazing twenty-two pound package of pure joy. She was my sweet pea, my baby girl, the joy of my life. And to think that just two years earlier, the thought of becoming a dad would have sent me packing and running as far as I could get - well, within my two mile radius that is, considering I was still on anklet at the time.

Parenthood was turning out to be one amazing, kickass journey, one I had never expected to embark on and now, I got to spend my days marvelling at this amazing human being who'd made an unexpected appearance in my life at the ripe old age of thirty-six.

In hindsight, you might say my life was divided into two totally distinct periods: life _before_ Hope and life _after _Hope and although the two worlds had collided on occasion over the past year and half, they couldn't be more different from one another. My life before Hope had been all about instant gratification — read self-gratification. I'd convinced myself that life owed me big time and that I was entitled to take whatever I wanted in order to make up for what I'd decided had been a difficult childhood — as if I was the only person on the planet who'd ever suffered hardship or loss.

After she was born, I began to see life through her eyes and what I wanted more than anything was for her to become a happy, healthy, well-adjusted young woman who would contribute to making this world a better place. That was a hell of a tall order and I'd known from the start that the only way Sara and I could accomplish that was to become good role models for our daughter. Hence, what some might call, my transformation. And I use the word loosely. I'd always been drawn to crazy, lucrative schemes and machinations that allowed me to showcase my… superior personal skills and attributes. All modesty aside, I was, by all accounts, a good - if not great - looking guy, a charmer, a sweet talker and yes, I'll readily admit, usually the smartest guy in the room. Well, at least I'd thought so until I met Special Agent Peter Burke. He'd managed to outwit me on occasion and for years, I too had taken pleasure in trying to find ways to outsmart him.

Since our forced partnership, I'd learned to appreciate some of his more virtuous traits: his unwavering integrity, his earnestness and sincerity, his unyielding sense of right and wrong. And so, under his tutelage, I began to change just as I like to think he'd begun to evolve, becoming more spontaneous, channeling his inner id and basically not being such a tight ass.

But honestly, who can truly divorce themselves from their true self? And so, I still struggled from time to time with the need to balance my compulsions with my responsibilities as a husband and father. And so the battle raged on - a battle between my baser instincts and the now inescapable awareness that I had an important role to play in my baby daughter's life.

I worked hard at it but hey, like I said, who's perfect?

'Poppa! Poppa! Poppa!' came my daughter's creaky little voice from the family room. She sat on the carpet, babbling away as she stacked brightly coloured blocks, oblivious to me as I worked in the kitchen.

'Are you hungry sweet pea?' I called out to her.

She ignored me and continued to build her tower, starting again after each collapse and displaying unflappable patience, the likes of which I couldn't help but admire. She was wrapped up in her own little world, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she worked — a look of concentration not unlike the one on my face in years past as I struggled with, say… cracking an impenetrable safe or planning an elaborate con.

We'd only been in our new house for a few weeks and we were still getting settled into a new routine. I'd been doing an awful lot of reading and I'd discovered that for a kid Hope's age, routines were essential in making her feel happy, safe and secure. Eat, play, get your diaper changed, sleep… eat, play, get your diaper changed, sleep and repeat. Well, you get the gist of it.

At just over a year of age, Hope needed two solid naps in order to get through her busy day without fussing — one around 10:00 right after her morning snack and a second, longer one after lunch. I'd become quite astute at picking up on the cues. Whenever she got too quiet or cranky or overly clingy - definitely out of character for her - or when she began to twirl her hair between her stubby little fingers or stick her thumb into her heart shaped mouth… well, it was time to put her down in her crib and watch her curl up into a little ball and fall into a deep sleep.

One of the things I'd learned during my short tenure as a parent was that babies could crash and burn in the blink of an eye. She'd be in perpetual motion, chatting up a storm, running around the house creating joy and havoc and then suddenly she would stop, curl up against my chest and fall into a deep slumber - as suddenly as if I'd clicked on the tv remote or turned off a light switch. Her little eyelids would flutter and close like a veil on the world and her breathing would slow as her body became slack, a respite from the constant movement of life as a busy toddler.

The opposite was just as true. The moment she opened her eyes again, the chattering and running around would resume as if it had never stopped - a strange and new phenomenon I'd yet to comprehend.

While she slept, I'd roam aimlessly around the overly quiet house, putting on a load of laundry, tidying up the family room, doing some work in my studio or getting an early start on dinner. Ironically, after years of being tethered to a tracking anklet and forever at the beck and call of my FBI handler, here I was once again shackled to the confines of a still unfamiliar house in suburban New York, carrying out mundane tasks while my heart continued to beat in another room nearby.

Most days, I didn't mind it one bit. I would gladly carry out the domestic chores required of a stay-at-home parent just so I could get to spend time with my gorgeous daughter and her beautiful mom when we were finally reunited as a family at the end of the day. But there were still moments when I yearned for the excitement of life in the big city and the adventures of being a confidential informant for the FBI. Those years working with Peter and the rest of the white collar crew had been some of the happiest of my life. But they remained a study in contrasts: moments of exhilaration as I put my multiple talents to work to help catch the bad guys mixed with moments of frustration and exasperation as a part of me longed to be the one being chased. For so long, I'd struggled with where I fit in the larger scheme of things and then life had made the decision for me, throwing me a huge curve ball when I'd least expected it.

Of course, I still longed for the sights and sounds of the big city where I'd lived ever since I'd first come to New York. June Ellington's mansion in Manhattan had been an amazing place to live but after Sara moved in, it had immediately begun to feel cramped.

Strange thing but as her belly grew, the space seemed to get tighter and tighter - her expanding waist a joyful reminder that soon, we would be three. Of course, it didn't help that I kept adding to the clutter with my obsessive daily shopping sprees at all the kid boutiques that crossed my path. I'd become unable to resist bringing home toys, kids' furnishings and accessories - and once we'd found out we were having a girl, mountains of clothing some of which she would outgrow before she even got a chance to wear.

Then Hope had arrived… and the small space had begun to feel downright claustrophobic. The first few months before she started to crawl, weren't too bad considering her movements were somewhat contained. June had insisted on breaking down the wall between my loft and the room next to it, creating a big beautiful bedroom for her but most of the time, the three of us co-existed in the small open space which consisted of our bedroom - basically a small nook in the corner with our bed and dresser - and the living and dining areas which had been overtaken by toys and baby paraphernalia. It hadn't taken long to come to the conclusion that we needed to find a bigger place but it had taken forever to find the right house.

In November, at a lovely get-together in my honour, Peter had removed my anklet for the last time, bringing my years at the Bureau to a bittersweet end. Sara, who up until that point had been home with Hope, returned to work full time at Sterling Bosch, instantly delegating me the role of main caregiver. Then, within weeks, there'd been the move out to Westchester, a totally different life than anything Sara or I had ever known.

As a kid, my mom and I had lived in the inner city and I was used to bustling sounds and constant activity. The first few weeks after we moved into the new house, Sara would tease me when I couldn't sleep because things were just too quiet. Two months in, we were all getting used to the new place, especially Hope who now had plenty of room to run and play.

Although Sara and I had agreed on the basics for our new home - at least three bedrooms, a large yard, a quiet street near schools and parks, you know, the usual - we each had our wish list for what was to become our 'forever home'. Sara needed easy access to the train into the city, I wanted a large kitchen with an adjoining family room, Sara wanted a walk-in closet, I wanted a room where I could paint, Sara tended towards houses with the kitchen located at the front of the house, I preferred those with the kitchen at the back… That one had us arguing for weeks until Sara finally gave in in exchange for another one of her must-haves: an ensuite bathroom, something that hadn't even registered on my radar.

Like all new homeowners, now that we'd lived in our home for a few weeks, all the little details good and bad we hadn't noticed at first glance had become more obvious. For one thing, I loved the patio door off the family room and the large picture window in the kitchen which let in the afternoon sun and gave us a clear sightline all the way to the back of the yard. The first week we'd moved in, Hope had helped me hang a bird feeder out on the deck and we were enjoying the sight of chickadees and the odd blue jay as I worked and she played — fodder for an introduction to the study of fauna and flora. For her part, Sara was enjoying the layout of our bedroom, large enough to set up a makeup table which had quickly become strictly her domain.

On the flip side, Sara missed the easy access to all those fashionable clothing boutiques she favoured and I wasn't crazy about the fact that the staircase was one long flight of fifteen steps without a landing to break it up. I'd begun to have nightmares about Hope escaping from her crib in the dead of night, managing to climb over the gate at the top of the staircase and tumbling all the way to her great peril.

To be honest, I'd become a bit obsessive about safety since we'd become parents - after all, I'd always been a details kind of guy. There were plenty of real and imagined dangers in any home and my daughter was proving to be both nimble and inquisitive - a scary combination.

One afternoon, as I was putting on a load of laundry down in the basement, I'd heard a loud thud followed by crying coming from upstairs. I'd run up the steps three at a time to find Hope on the floor next to her crib, tears running down her face as she sat there with her thumb in her mouth, trying her best to self-soothe. I must have held her in my arms for hours following the incident, unwilling to put her down long after I'd ascertained she'd been unharmed and despite her constant demands for me to stop smothering her. I never did figure out how she'd managed to escape the confines of her crib but I lived in constant fear of her repeating the feat. Of course her escape had led to unending taunts from both Peter and Sara about the apple not falling far from the tree.

_Daughter of infamous conman and prison escapee slips out of _

_the confines of her crib undetected._

You get the idea… anyway, the following day, I had run out to get a bunch of gym mats at the local Home Depot - mats which I'd used to cover the entirety of the floor in her bedroom before laying a large area rug over top.

Sara said I was a worry wart - which I was. To be honest, I'd always been on the overly cautious side (my previous job as a conman had demanded it) and I was becoming a bit of a safety freak when it came to anything involving our baby girl.

One particular Saturday morning, we'd had a moment of sheer panic when Hope had disappeared from sight within seconds of us watching her. She had been sitting on the kitchen floor surrounded by a dozen or so of her favourite stuffed toys, babbling away happily. I'd been sitting at the kitchen table, paying the monthly bills and Sara was putting on a pot of coffee when we both shouted simultaneously: '_Where's Hope?'_

She'd been there a minute before and the two of us began frantically calling out her name as we embarked on a thorough search of the surrounding area. Once we'd calmed down enough to listen, we could hear her humming, the sound coming from behind the door of the broom closet. We rushed to open the door only to find her sitting there between the broom and the mop, her pink elephant in her arms as she rocked it back and forth, humming a horribly off-key rendition of 'Eensy weensy spider'.

I chuckled at the recollection and glanced towards the family room where Hope had abandoned the blocks and had moved on to the stack of plastic coloured rings she favoured. I watched as she opened her mouth wide to try to take a bite out of the red one - which I'd noticed lately seemed to be her favourite. I'd just returned to the task of cutting up veggies when I felt a tug on my pant leg. I looked down, setting down the knife and turning towards her. She'd been doing that lately, moving a lot more stealthily and appearing out of the blue — especially if I was busy doing something and momentarily not paying attention.

'Hey sweetie' I said, turning to face her.

She dragged herself up to standing position and, leaning on my legs for support, she put her arms out for me to pick her up. She'd been walking for about six weeks now but she still alternated between toddling around on two legs and doing that thing where she sort of crawled - one leg straight and the other bent at the knee as she propelled herself forward. It got her where she was going faster than taking the time to balance herself on her own two feet before taking off.

'Are you getting tired baby girl?' I asked as I cradled her against my chest.

'Poppa…' she murmured her mouth full of thumb.

I gave her a smile and a kiss, ruffling her thick dark hair.

'Wam' I heard her say - Hopespeak for 'lamb'. Again with the thumb.

'You want Poppa to sing about the lamb?' I asked unnecessarily.

My extensive research as a new dad had taught me the importance of stimulating my daughter's language every chance I got, encouraging the sounds she made and trying to get her to repeat things.

I took that kind of advice in parenting very seriously.

Of course, that meant I spent most of my days talking to myself and waiting for the odd response - which I had to admit had begun to increase in frequency as of late. The one sided conversations lacked somewhat in stimulation but I usually made up for it when Sara got home, giving her a blow-by-blow account of our busy day, complete with an in-depth report on meal times, nap times, any new developmental milestones that might have popped up like a new word or a new facial expression - even bowel movements which any good parent knows is an essential part of the day.

Hope pulled her thumb out of her mouth and settled her eyes on me. 'Lamb' she repeated.

I began to hum as we made our way towards the staircase at the front of the house. The latch on the baby gate was a little tricky to unlock with just one hand but I held her tight against my chest and fiddled with it while she snuggled closer, her eyes already fluttering.

I glanced over my right shoulder into the formal living room - a room we hadn't yet made much use of - except for the obligatory 'christening of each room' with… well, you get the picture. I glanced out the front window at the quiet street; the older kids were in school and the little ones… well, they were probably all napping. Living in the suburbs sure had its perks: clean air, lots of space, private parking, large back yard.

A million dollar view of Manhattan, however, wasn't one of them.

'After your nap, how about we go visit uncle Peter at his office. Would you like that?'

''andy?' she asked expectantly, forcing her eyes to remain open but not bothering to remove her thumb from her mouth.

I chuckled quietly. 'I don't think uncle Peter has any candy at his office. Only at his house.'

She sighed and let her eyes flutter shut, her face pressed firmly against my chest.

'And then we'll come home and make dinner and when Mommy gets here, we can tell her about all the things we did today.'

Once again, I was talking to myself because Hope was sound asleep.

WCWCWC

Life as an insurance investigator at the prestigious firm of Sterling Bosch certainly had its ups and downs. Although she specialized in the recovery of stolen goods, much of Sara Ellis' time was spent liaising with fussy clients, catering to their every whim and writing reports, lots of reports. Not exactly glamorous stuff.

What she did love, however, was the excitement of being out in the field, investigating leads and ultimately recovering precious items her clients feared had been lost forever. On a moment's notice, she would take off on those four inch heels of hers and follow her nose wherever it took her - including some pretty unsavoury locations. She'd been known to dumpster dive on occasion, stretch the truth to get her stiletto clad foot in the door, twist some arms or bluff with threats of retaliation in order to get the information she was after. It was all fair game when you were dealing with the lowlifes of this world. And for Sara, the whole thing was elevated to an art form: the thrill of the chase, the excitement of setting the trap, the exhilaration of the recovery.

Up until a few years ago, that had pretty well been the extent of her life: endless hours chasing down leads, a shot of bourbon or whiskey after a long day of work, the odd roll in the hay with men she found interesting - but not so interesting that they would disrupt her busy life. Then, there'd been her ill-fated affair with Bryan McKenzie, the VP of Sterling Bosch's New York Division. It had been a bad fit from the start but Sara had gone so far as to accept his marriage proposal; after all, if she was going to have any kind of a long-term relationship, it would have to be with someone who was as doggedly committed to the job as she was.

But it turned out the guy was a crook and Sara moved on, drifting back into a casual affair with Neal Caffrey, conman extraordinaire, a man who intrigued her and angered her in equal measures. They had dated off and on - if you could describe casual mind-blowing sex and witty banter as dating. They'd grown closer over time, unwilling to admit to their deepening feelings until a twist of fate had shaken them both to the core. To their consternation and faster than you can say 'defective condom', they'd been faced with the most difficult and life-altering decision of their lives. After some soul searching, they had decided to take the plunge and embark on the most exciting albeit unexpected adventure of their lives: parenthood.

Her new role as a mother had brought out some hereto hidden nurturing traits in Sara Ellis but it had done nothing to dull her voracious appetite for the chase and the kill. Contrary to her husband, who tended to use his silver tongue to get what he wanted, Sara didn't hesitate to use her baton or her company issued Glock in her quest for success. She came across as fearless - which she wasn't, not really. But she was badass and she'd learned early on that if you acted self-confident and weren't afraid to be labelled as bitchy, most men would back down, including some of her male cohorts. Life as an insurance investigator was cut throat and you needed to rise above the constant misogyny and wise-ass comments if you wanted to make a go of it, something she had no problem doing.

But make no mistake about it, Sara loved her daughter. Hope was pure joy from the top of her dark wavy head to the tips of her teetering feet. But six months at home with a little one while Neal finished up his sentence with the FBI had been more than enough for the ambitious woman. Meanwhile, her male counterparts at Sterling Bosch schemed to take over her prestigious clients, leaving her to play catch-up upon her return.

Not surprisingly, Sara had realized she wasn't full-time mother material and she would joke to her colleagues that she went to work in order to get some down time. At least, at the office, she could close the door for a few minutes and regroup, have a cup of coffee without interruptions, return calls without having her pant leg tugged at incessantly or her new silk blouse spit up on by a whiny toddler. As far as she was concerned, having Neal at home with their daughter was the best of both worlds.

'You ready to go?' came a voice from the doorway to her office, startling her.

She rolled her eyes before turning to look up at Mitch Dunlop and slapping on a phoney smile. Mitch was the most recent addition to Sterling Bosch's stable of investigators - and if Sara had her way, he wouldn't last the month. Although no real threat to her, he acted as if he owned the place - and for good reason. He'd been brought in by his uncle Win - aka Winston Bosch, CEO. Mitchell Harold Dunlop III was Mr. Boch's sister's youngest son and the most problematic of her three boys. Despite a life of privilege and a bought and paid for degree from an Ivy League School, the only thing Mitch had majored in during his four years at Princeton was partying and chasing skirts.

Unable to keep down a job, he'd been passed on to his favourite uncle in the hopes he could straighten him out and help him settle down. In the two weeks since his arrival, the young man had already alienated every one on staff especially the women whom he flirted with and leered at constantly. A team player, this guy was not!

To Sara's great dismay, Mr. Bosch had turned to her in the hopes that she would mentor the young man. Being away for six months on maternity leave had a price and Sara was still trying to climb the steep hill back to her previous standing as one of the boss's most promising investigators. She had returned to fewer cases and less prominent clients thanks to the likes of assholes like Ross Greene and Mateo Suarez, two ambitious investigators who had taken advantage of her absence to horn in on Sara's clients, leaving her with the crumbs. Hence, her eagerness to get into the boss's good graces by taking the brat nephew under her wing.

She stared Mitch down as his eyes locked in on the neckline of her dress, licking his lips obsessively as he stared back.

'Uhhh, Mitch, my face is up here' she said, pointing to her face.

He gave her a naughty little smile and returned to staring at her breasts.

Sara stood before him and stared him down. He was short - no more than five-feet-seven and she hovered over him in her four-inch heels. It was a clear case of little man syndrome, something not unknown to her. She perched on the edge of her desk, coming face to face with him.

'If you don't bring your eyes up here in this general area' she said, her finger circling her face, 'I'm going to bring my knee up to that sad excuse you call junk and you'll be writhing on the floor in five, four, three…'

He looked up, taken aback by her comment and absentmindedly brought his hand to cover his junk. 'You wouldn't' he said arrogantly.

'What do you want Mitch?' she asked, her voice monotone.

'You said you'd take me with you to meet your contact down in the garment district.'

It was true, she had told him he could tag along but now she was wondering how much of a liability he might be.

'First of all, I'm not taking you unless you bring it down a notch and promise to keep your mouth shut' she said, moving back to sit at her desk. 'I work hard to cultivate my sources and I don't want you messing it up.'

'And secondly, the 'meet' as you call it isn't for another hour.'

It was obvious this guy had been watching way too many cop shows.

He leaned on the desk and brought his face down uncomfortably close to hers. 'Why don't we leave early and get a drink on the way?'

Sara turned to look at him, noticing his gaze moving down to her bosom once more.

'Mitch, go pretend you have something to do. Because I do' she began, facing her computer. 'I'll let you know when it's time to leave.'

'Are you bringing your gun?' he asked, like a dog salivating at the sight of a pork chop.

Sara pretended to keep reading something on her computer screen.

'Uncle Win said you would get me my own firearm.'

Again, Sara did her best to hold her tongue. She wasn't about to put a loaded gun into the hands of such a reckless and immature eager beaver.

'We'll see' she said soberly. 'Let's see how today goes first.'

Of course, she had no intention of having him around long enough to warrant getting him a gun and sooner rather than later, she was going to have to break the news to her boss that his no good nephew had none of the prerequisites to become a successful insurance investigator.

She just needed to find the right time to break the news.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

I was busy wiping down Hope's high chair for the third time since breakfast when the phone rang in the all too quiet house. Thank God I thought, someone who can actually dial a phone (and speak coherently into it) was calling. I jumped on it before the ringing woke Hope, smiling as I noticed the caller's name on the screen.

'Peter! Hey! Thanks for calling back.'

'No problem' came the friendly voice of my best friend. 'What are you and my little muffin top up to today?'

I stifled a chuckle at his choice of words. Peter had a long list of cute little names for his goddaughter: pumpkin, cutie pie, angel face, peanut, honey bunny, sweet cakes just to name a few. Muffin top was a new one; I'd have to add it to the ever growing list.

'Just hanging out' I replied, leaning up against the kitchen counter. I felt my butt sliding off the edge and pulled away.

'Shit!' I said under my breath as I turned to discover the jar of applesauce knocked over and spilling down the side of the kitchen counter, leaving a large stain on my sweatpants and a mess on the floor.

'What's wrong?'

'Nothing' I replied, righting the jar and evaluating the mess I'd just made.

I'd interrupted his busy workday; I wasn't about to share the mundane issues faced by a suburban stay at home dad. I forced myself to focus and plastered on a smile as if Peter could see me from across the miles.

'I was just thinking I might drive into Manhattan… you know, pick up Sara after work. I was going to stop by for a minute and say hi.'

'Again?' Peter said.

He had a point. It would be the second visit this week… and it was only Wednesday. I guess my desperation for adult company was starting to show.

'If you're busy…'

'No, of course not. As a matter of fact, maybe you can have a look at this case that's got us all stumped.'

'Let me guess. Mortgage fraud?'

'You know it. You were always aces at figuring those out.'

I sighed. If taking a look at an unsolved case was going to get me in the door and provide me with the adult company I was craving, I was all for it. Besides, whenever I stopped in for a visit, most of the women in the office swooned over Hope, gushing about how cute she was, commenting on those sparkling blue eyes, that infectious laugh. Maybe I'd be able to pawn her off for a few minutes - just long enough to enjoy a quiet cup of coffee with Peter in his office, just like the old days.

'Sure' I exclaimed, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. 'Hope should be up from her nap any minute. We could be there in about an hour.'

There was a slight hesitation, then Peter spoke again. 'Are you going to put one of those cute little hairband things in her hair' he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

I chuckled silently, trying to imagine the big strapping FBI agent sitting in his office, surrounded by case files, his mind on my daughter's choice of accessories for her dark wavy hair.

'Would that make you happy Peter?' I asked, deadpan.

He remained silent then I heard him clearing his throat.

'See you when you get here' he said, his voice gruff.

I hung up, newly energized, and turned my attention to cleaning up the mess I'd just made. Going into the Bureau these days was so different from the years I'd spent working there. Nowadays, my visits were strictly social. To be honest, I'd enjoyed my time fighting crime with Jones, Diana and the rest of the crew but I'd always been low man on the totem pole and I didn't always get the respect I felt I deserved. Sure, most of the time we were all on the same page, working towards a common goal and I'd enjoyed the camaraderie, the water cooler gossip, the playful banter between me and my handler. But more often than not, my instincts would kick in and I couldn't help myself from going rogue or Mozzie and I would be playing an angle and Peter would get wind of it.

Then all hell would break loose and once again I'd have Peter, or worse yet Hughes, breathing down my neck.

These days, there were fewer opportunities for me to get into trouble. I would walk into the Bureau to a hero's welcome, all eyes on my beautiful daughter. Especially Peter, whose blind infatuation with Hope had become downright embarrassing. He'd morph into some six-foot-two lovelorn version of himself, tripping over his own two feet in order to get to her first, humiliating himself by cooing, making goofy faces, raising his voice up an octave or two, anything just to get her to smile. On the flip side, his obsession with Hope seemed to be nudging our previously lopsided relationship towards a more balanced, more genuine friendship. I guess it had always been there but now that my anklet was off and I'd settled down somewhat, I could see a newfound respect in my ex-handler's eyes.

On more than one occasion, Peter had tried to talk me into coming to work for him as a paid consultant. Truth was, somedays I still felt torn between this uncharted territory that was my new life in the burbs and the old days, hanging out at the Bureau, helping to solve crimes. But it didn't feel like the right fit for me… not anymore. There were still people there who frowned upon the deal I'd been given, people who, no matter how much time passed, would always be suspicious of my motives. And frankly, I was looking for a fresh start, somewhere I could prove myself on my own merits without all my baggage being constantly shoved in my face.

Besides, with the high cost of child care and my increasingly obsessive father-hen complex, it was a no brainer that one of us stay home with Hope at least for a couple of years and with Sara bringing in the big bucks, I was the logical choice.

Some might find our little arrangement untraditional, emasculating even. But I didn't see it that way nor did Sara - and frankly, we were the only ones who mattered. Being home with Hope gave me the time I needed to work things out for myself and contribute to the smooth running of our busy lives - just as stay-at-home moms had been doing for decades, albeit without the well deserved recognition.

Certainly, I hadn't seen many stay-at-home dads on my regular visits to the park or to the local library or when Hope and I were out picking up groceries. What I _had_ noticed were the curious looks, the admiring glances which I felt were totally unwarranted. Hadn't women been doing the all important job of child rearing for decades without acknowledgement? But when it was a man, it was as if he was the second coming.

Go figure.

To say I didn't worry about settling down into a legitimate yet meaningful job someday would be a lie. I wondered constantly about my rightful place in this new world order, wondered if I would ever recapture the kind of excitement I'd felt back when Mozzie and I had worked together.

Probably not.

And that was part of the trade-off, wasn't it? Jones' words from years ago echoed in my mind: _'Caffrey'_ he'd said one night in a rare moment of bonding over a bottle of fine whisky, _'We can't have it all because choices are sacrifices and inevitably that means giving up something you want for something you want more.'_

The son of a gun had been right of course. All those years, I'd chased after that elusive 'something': that fleeting high I would get a glimpse of while planning and executing the perfect heist, imagining that this time, _this_ time it would be it, the big score - our big whale as Mozzie called it. In hindsight, I'd begun to understand it was just the dopamine talking, the actual prize would always remain just out of my reach. Or as had been the case with Adler's treasure, just not worth the price. Now, it was clear that all that excitement, that anticipation paled in comparison to what I now knew I wanted most of all: to see the two women in my life happy and content.

I heard a quiet whimper coming from the baby monitor on the kitchen counter and shook off the persistent doubts about my future. With each passing day, I was being further sucked into this life as a married father living in suburbia - and enjoying it more and more. Sara and I had even started talking about growing our family and I'd just about convinced her to get to work on baby number two. Two years apart seemed like a good age difference and we'd both agreed we didn't want Hope to be an only child. Why not take the leap and start putting those diaper changing years behind us. Who wanted to prolong that stage for a decade when you could get it done in just a few years. Besides, I had plans for a houseful of kids; I just needed to talk Sara into it, one baby at a time.

'Poppa! Up!' I heard coming from upstairs.

I dropped the dishrag. My master was calling.

WCWCWC

The piece of art Sara had in her sights was likely the ugliest sculpture she'd ever laid eyes on. It was the likeness of teen idol James Dean and part of a collection of three busts owned by the ostentatious Van Dyke family of Newport, Rhode Island. The other two, John Wayne and Marlon Brando were just as ass ugly but whoever had slipped away with the rebel without a cause had the good taste to leave them both behind. The trio of sculptures were made of bronze, leaving the facial features of the actors distorted and ambiguous - not their best look by a long shot.

Sara had suspected an inside job from the start. The Van Dykes were renowned for having very little respect for the hired help and there'd been a revolving door of cooks, butlers, maids and groundsmen as far back as the early 90's when Hilda Van Dyke had taken over the estate following the death of her father.

Old Hilda was everything people hated about rich folks all wrapped into one: arrogant, pretentious, self-centred, condescending, short tempered, cheap as all hell and dismissive of the hired help. Despite her nasty disposition, Mrs. Van Dyke's family was a decades old client of Sterling Bosch and they brought in a tidy sum. Consequently, Mr. Bosch had been keen to appease their star client and had tasked Sara with looking into the case - something the new mom had seen as an opportunity to reclaim her status as Sterling Bosch's top investigator.

She had immediately suspected Fred Wray, a man who'd worked as a butler for Mrs. Van Dyke for a mere three months before disappearing coincidentally on the same night as the Van Dyke estate was burgled, the thief getting away with much of the matriarch's jewelry as well as the infamous bust. Whether the thief had a soft spot for old Jimmy or simply had a buyer for the unsightly sculpture was up for debate but when Mozzie had commented over dinner one night that he'd gotten wind about an ass-ugly sculpture floating around out there, Sara's ears had immediately perked up. Since then, she'd been working with Neal's buddy to crack the case. Moz was only too happy to help, having heard through the grapevine that the thief was looking to fence the damn thing through Nick Holder, aka Nasty Nick, another on the long list of Mozzie's enemies.

'Why won't you tell me what your target is?' Mitch Dunlop asked as he and Sara stood on the sidewalk outside the office building, trying to flag down a cab.

'I told you, a good investigator plays it close to the vest until the goods are recovered.'

'In other words, you're afraid one of the other investigators will get wind of it and horn in on your case' he said, eyebrow raised.

'It's a cutthroat world out there Dunlop. If you want to play the game, you've got to remember the rules' she replied cryptically as a yellow cab slowed in front of them.

'Now, get in and stop being a smart ass.'

WCWCWC

'Neal!'

I turned to find Nathalie Williams, Hughes' long time secretary, standing before me. She'd worked for the bossman for years and even though he'd retired the previous spring, she was putting in one last year in order to get her full pension. She and Hughes had been joined at the hip. Nathalie had a radar quality about her, always a step ahead of her boss, instinctively knowing what he needed - usually before he even knew it himself. She'd not only been his secretary but also his confidante, his sounding board and his chief coddler all in one. She'd been fiercely protective of him, downright motherly despite the fact they were probably roughly the same age.

'You brought the baby' she cooed, getting closer and flashing a sweet smile in Hope's direction.

Hope turned away, tucking her head between my neck and shoulder and getting a good strong grip of my shirt collar.

'Hey Nathalie, it's good to see you again' I said, matching her smile.

She and I had had a friendly relationship throughout my tenure even though she'd been wise to my conniving ways. I'd always gotten the feeling that she would intercede on my behalf with the head honcho on occasion. Reese would be dead set against one of my cockamamie schemes (Hughes' words, not mine — I preferred to think of them as innovative, creative and outside the box). The next thing I knew, he'd be up in Peter's office, giving him the green light on the outlandish scheme I'd proposed, reminding him to rein me in and make sure I didn't get into any trouble. On more than one occasion, I'd spotted Nathalie nearby, watching the goings on with a twinkle in her eye.

Nathalie ran her hand gently through Hope's hair and Hope relented, sneaking a peak at her. I could feel my daughter start to relax in my arms.

'Can you say hi to Nathalie sweet pea?' I coaxed as Hope flashed a shy smile.

Nathalie reciprocated with a gentle smile of her own, giving Hope the chance to thaw a little. 'Do you know what I have for you in my desk Hope?' the woman said, her voice soft.

Hope slackened her grip on my shirt collar and moved away from my chest where she'd buried her head.

She smiled more broadly this time. ''andy?' she asked, hopeful.

Nathalie looked at me quizzically and I shrugged as if I didn't know what Hope had said. I didn't want the older woman knowing that her godfather bribed her with what he called 'candy' or that I would allow such a thing to be fed to my precious one-year-old.

'I have surprise for you' Nathalie whispered, opening her arms.

That was another word my daughter was all too familiar with. She sat up straight, looking into Nathalie's eyes as if evaluating her trustworthiness as a purveyor of surprises.

'Why don't we let your daddy visit with your uncle Peter and you can come with me?'

Whereas she'd been playing the shy card a moment earlier, I was surprised to find Hope squirming to get out of my grasp and into the older woman's waiting arms.

Funny what the promise of a surprise will do for you.

'Thanks' I mouthed as I watched Nathalie walk away with my daughter in her arms.

When I turned around, I practically ran over Diana Berrigan who was carrying a huge pile of files.

'Hey Caffrey' she called out, continuing towards her desk.

'You here for the excellent coffee?' she asked, giving a head nod in the direction of the old coffee maker in the kitchenette.

Even from a distance, I could see the sludge dripping into the pot, the familiar aroma — or should I say stench — filling the air. Awww, good times.

I wagged my eyebrows at Diana just as Jones came into my field of vision, looking rather preoccupied.

'Hey Caffrey' he called out. 'What happened to your kid? Did you forget her at home?'

I gave him a snarky smile. 'Peter in his office?' I asked.

The words had barely left my lips when the man himself appeared on the balustrade, smiling down at me expectantly.

'Where is she?' he asked without even bothering to say hello. 'Where's my little buttercup?'

I made a mental note of the newest pet name so I could add it to the growing list.

Since Hope had come into our lives, it was always the same. Peter totally ignored both me and Sara and zoned in on Hope whenever our little family walked into a room. It was as if we'd ceased to exist, merely the progenitors of the amazing little human being he'd fallen in love with.

'Good day to you too' I quipped.

He dismissed me with a wave of his hand and I could see his eyes searching the open space. I started the few steps up to his office, joining him up on the second level.

'Nathalie whisked her away' I explained, tapping his shoulder. 'Come on, you can see her later.'

I could see the disappointment in his eyes but he followed me into his office, rounding his desk and taking a seat while I let myself fall in the chair opposite him as I'd done countless times before. I could see that look in his eyes, that longing for the way things had been mere months before. He got that wistful look whenever I visited which was strange considering all the frustration and grief I'd caused him over the years. It was as if he'd suddenly gotten selective amnesia and chose to only remember the good times we'd shared working together.

'Did you… is she wearing one of those cute little hairbands?' he asked, embarrassed.

My eyes narrowed as I stared back. 'Peter, this weird obsession of yours with Hope's hair accessories is really starting to freak me out.'

'It's just… she's so cute with those on' he mumbled looking away awkwardly.

'So, what's this case you were telling me about?'

'Sturgens versus Federal Bank' he said, grabbing a file on his desk and throwing it at me.

I flashed back to the dozens of times he'd done the exact same thing and the dread I used to feel at the thought of having to work on yet another mortgage fraud case. This time, it was different, almost exciting. It would be nice to read something other than _Goodnight Moon_ or _I'll love you forever _which was pretty well the extent of my reading material these days.

I glanced at the file and Peter put up his hand. 'Why don't you take it home… have a look at it when you have a few minutes.'

I nodded. 'So, are you going to offer me a cup of that fine FBI drip or do I have to serve myself?'

I'd been notorious for complaining about the crappy coffee and I could see the look of incredulity in his eyes.

'For old times sake' I added with a wistful smile.

As if on cue, Diana appeared with two mugs and placed them on the desk between us. 'Cream, no sugar' she said as she slipped one towards me.

I must have gotten a smug look on my face because she quickly added: 'Just this once Caffrey, don't get used to it.'

She was back out the door in seconds, ostensibly returning to that pile of files I'd just seen her lugging around and I found myself alone with Peter once again.

'So how are things?' he asked.

My universe revolved around changing diapers, doing laundry and preparing meals these days and I'd begun to feel like I didn't have much to contribute in the way of normal adult conversations.

'Oh, you know' I replied, looking away. 'The usual, the life of a suburban dad…'

Peter's face lit up as an idea came to him. 'You know, Jones is hosting one of his poker nights on Friday. Why don't you come?'

He must have seen the gleam in my eye because he smiled back but then I frowned, wondering if Jones was up to having me along. He and I had always had a rather strained relationship. Of all the members of the team, Jones had always been the least trusting of my intentions. Just when I thought I was making headway with him, he'd catch me in a lie or something would happen to amp up his distrust. He'd always said he'd never play poker with me.

'I don't know…' I let my voice trail.

'What? Afraid Sara won't let you out of the house?' he teased.

Of course, nothing could be further from the truth. Sara was always encouraging me to go out and socialize. I think she was afraid my brilliant mind might wither away from boredom or that I would start to resent being stuck in the house. Fact was, I loved our evenings in, just the three of us, cocooning in our new home but I'll admit I enjoyed the odd opportunity to slip on pants that zipped up and a shirt that had actual buttons.

'Sara's not the problem' I admitted. 'It's Jones…'

Peter frowned as if I was being silly. 'Just leave it to me' he said reassuringly. 'I'll get you an invite.'

I smiled, relieved. Poker night with some of the guys sounded like a fun way to spend a Friday evening. Maybe I'd even get lucky.

My ears perked up. Faraway in the distance, I could hear some whining, a sound I had grown to recognize all too well over the past year. I turned in my chair, instantly spotting Hope being passed around from Nathalie to Diana and back again as the two women did their best to try to comfort my crying daughter. I could see a small teddy bear firmly in Hope's grasp but even that novelty didn't seem enough to reassure her.

'I stood in the doorway to Peter's office and she spotted me.

'Poppa! Poppa!' I heard her call out, her arms reaching out in my direction.

Diana scooped her up and started up the stairs as everyone turned to see what all the ruckus was about.

'I think she wants her daddy.'

'She's still making strange with people she doesn't know well' I explained, preparing to take her from Diana's arms.

Unbeknownst to me, Peter had snuck up alongside me, as if he was overtaking me in the last ten meters of a hundred meter dash. Hope's arms seemed to change trajectory, straight for Peter's open arms.

'What's the matter my sweet little angel' he cooed reassuringly, reaching for her. She stopped her whining and sighed, putting her head up against his chest as if he were her saviour. She hiccuped, catching her breath.

I groaned silently and did a mental eye roll, feeling like chopped liver. Where was all the unbridled love and affection for the man who fed her three square meals a day, catered to her every whim, changed her poopy diapers and rocked her to sleep in his arms?

Apparently, he'd been pushed aside… just like that. All in favour of the guy who drooled over her and fussed over her choice of headwear.

I heard Peter whisper something in her ear as he ran his hand through her dark head of hair, adjusting the flowered hairband and kissing her forehead.

Hope perked up and with tears still streaking down her cheeks, she smiled brilliantly at him. ''andy?' she asked with halting breath.

'Yes, my little gingersnap' he said reassuringly, heading to his desk and pulling open the first drawer.

'Peter, I wish you'd stop calling El's oatmeal muffins 'candy'. We're trying to teach her a proper vocabulary… and besides, what are people going to say if they think you're actually feeding a one-year-old candy.'

Peter shushed me rudely and reached into his desk, pulling out a ziplock bag and revealing an oatmeal raisin muffin as Hope shrieked in glee.

'Careful with the —

'I know, I know' Peter said, breaking up a raisin in two before placing it between Hope's lips.

The poor kid only had seven teeth in her whole head and even a raisin could be a choking hazard if she got overly excited. She sucked away on the small piece of food, her face illuminated as if she'd won the lottery.

''ANDY!' she exclaimed.

I shook my head in despair and Peter glowed, pleased with himself.

What do you know, I guess I'd been wrong about no candy at the office.

WCWCWC

Sara boarded the train back to the suburbs following her aborted meeting with Mozzie. She should have known he'd get spooked; she'd certainly been acquainted long enough with the little man to be familiar with his over the top paranoia.

Damn Mitch! He'd come strolling into the café — no, make that strutting — drawing attention to himself like he was some important businessman closing a big deal. Absolutely no appreciation for discretion this guy - and no ability whatsoever to follow orders.

Of course, Mozzie had done exactly what one might expect, he'd taken off faster than a toupee in a hurricane, not bothering to look back. Sara cursed under her breath. This was going to set her back and now she'd have to find a way to lure Mozzie out of the rock he'd crawled back under if she was going to have a chance in hell of finding that missing sculpture. Maybe Neal could help, bribe him into coming over with the promise of a nice gourmet meal. Who was she kidding, they already fed the man most of the time anyway.

It had taken her a long time to get Mozzie to trust her. Their little arrangement dated back a couple of years. At first, it had been fun to be sharing a secret with the little man, something Neal knew nothing about. After all, Neal had kept plenty of secrets from her over the years. It had quickly become a mutually beneficial arrangement. Mozzie was a dependable source - most of the time - and he'd helped her recover a handful of stolen goods, increasing her commissions significantly. Of course, in exchange she'd had to put up with all his idiosyncrasies but still… an informant was an informant. And Mozzie… well, he had his reasons for doing this too. He seemed to be enjoying his newfound weapon in his quest to exact revenge on some of the scummier scumbags who'd screwed him over throughout the years. The tidy sum Sara paid him helped to sweeten the deal.

First things first. Tomorrow morning, she was going to march straight into Mr. Bosch's office and tell him what a useless waste of space his nephew was. Getting into the boss' good graces would be of no good to her if she didn't have a single client to her name.

Her phone buzzed in her hand and she glanced down at it, a smile lighting up her face. Neal was offering to swing by her office and pick her up.

'Already on the train' she typed. 'See you at home ❤️'

WCWCWC

'Momma!' Hope said pointing out the window from her spot in the back seat of the car.

I glanced in the rear view mirror at her excited face. Since we'd changed her carseat from rear-facing to front-facing, it was as if the world had opened up for her. Now, she spent the long drive from suburbia to the city and back watching the world go by, pointing, cooing, calling things out.

'Soon baby girl. Soon' I replied, trying to engage her in conversation.

'Momma!' she shouted even louder, still pointing to her left.

Repetition… the joys of language acquisition.

'That's right sweet pea' I said patiently as I returned my eyes to the road ahead. 'You'll see Momma at home.'

Traffic was hell and I'd left the Federal Building a little too late. By the time I'd reached Sara, she was already on the train back to White Plains and we'd agreed to meet up at home. My mind turned to what to make for a quick dinner - considering I'd been out gallivanting around all afternoon. There was a shepherd's pie in the freezer and I'd picked up some cold cuts and French bread…

'MOMMA!' Hope shouted, ever more insistently as she kept pointing.

I sighed, trying to remain patient. 'It won't be long, honey. We're almost home.'

Just then, the car to our left swerved in our direction and cut me off as I bit my tongue to keep from cursing.

'Jeez' I said, under my breath.

'MOM —'

My eyes focussed on the car ahead, suddenly recognizing our second car, my darling wife at the wheel, on her way home from the park and ride. She seemed oblivious to the fact that she'd almost caused an accident. Let me rephrase that: she _was_ oblivious to the fact she'd almost caused an accident. She pulled up at a red light and I slowed behind her as the phone rang. I pressed the bluetooth button on the steering wheel.

'Hi you two!' came Sara's voice as she waved to us from up ahead.

I wanted to point out that she'd just about run us off the road but I resisted. I'd been learning it was best not to start a conversation by pointing out one of her shortcomings. Better to wait for a more appropriate moment.

'Hi!' I replied as Hope continued with her litany. 'Momma! Momma!'

'Hi sweetheart' Sara replied, looking over her shoulder and waving.

I cringed. _Keep your eyes on the road _my brain screamed.

'Hope was the one who spotted you' I said instead just as the light turned green.

'Green light babe' I said as the car behind me beeped.

I followed Sara into our neighbourhood.

'Where have you two been?' she asked.

'We're just getting back from a little visit to Peter's office' I said, watching her continue to zigzag up the street.

A bike pulled out of a driveway and onto the street as I winced.

'Careful honey!' I called out as I saw the brake lights on Sara's car come on.

'I saw it Neal' she said with an edge of impatience to her voice. Generally speaking, she appreciated my comments about her driving skills about as much as I enjoyed having a root canal.

'Hungry?' I asked, taking my foot out of my mouth. 'I thought we could do soup and sandwiches. I picked up some pastrami and there's some low-fat cold cuts in the fridge.'

'Sounds good' she replied, slowing to pull into our driveway.

Hope fidgeted and shouted in glee, eager to get out of her car seat and into her mother's arms.

When I finally unbuckled her, she squirmed to get out of my grasp. For the second time today, I was feeling rather unappreciated.

'Hi baby girl' Sara said, reaching out for her and placing butterfly kisses all over her face.

Hope giggled madly. I stood in our driveway, feeling forlorn. Sara seemed to notice and leaned in to kiss my lips.

'Hello hunky husband and dad' she said.

My smile returned. I grabbed for Hope's diaper bag on the passenger's seat and headed for the front door.

And that's when I noticed it.

The door was slightly ajar and I immediately spotted splinters on the door frame.

'Stay here' I called out as I threw down the bag and walked towards the door.

'What's the ma — ' Sara stopped suddenly as she noticed what I was reacting to.

Mozzie was notorious for stopping by uninvited and since we'd moved in, I'd come home on several occasions to find him sitting at our kitchen table, sipping a glass of Merlot when I knew damn well I'd left the house secured and locked up. But breaking in was never his MO; Moz always managed to get in through more refined means, using his many skills to circumvent something as annoying as a locked door.

'Careful Neal' I heard Sara's voice warn from behind me.

I slowly pushed the front door open, my eyes and ears on high alert. I heard a commotion coming from the back of the house and stepped in cautiously.

'Hey!' I called out, just in time to see a couple of young guys slip out the patio door and streak through the back yard.

Straight into the neighbour's garden and out of sight.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

'Tomorrow would be perfect' I said into the phone.

I could feel Sara's eyes boring into the back of my head from across the room. She'd been pretty shaken up ever since we'd gotten home. She'd insisted on me checking all the rooms and closets before she would even bring Hope inside the house and I can't say I blamed her.

I did a walkthrough of both the upstairs and the basement, checking out every nook and cranny in case an intruder was lying in wait. Upstairs, I found everything pretty well as I'd left it earlier. The little outfit Hope had been wearing before her nap was right where I'd left it on her change table. Over in our bedroom, the t-shirt and applesauce stained sweatpants I'd changed out of were still lying on the bed, waiting to be thrown into the laundry hamper.

As far as I could tell, the prowlers hadn't made it much past the kitchen and family room. The desk in the family room had been ransacked and strewn all over the floor were old hydro and credit card bills as well as that special flowery note paper Sara kept in the bottom drawer for special occasions. The DVD player had been disconnected from the television set and sat by the back door, ostensibly waiting to be whisked away when the intruders made their getaway. I noticed one of our two laptops on the coffee table in the family room when I clearly remembered leaving it on the kitchen table. I tidied up the mess they'd made as best I could; no sense in upsetting Sara with any visual reminders of the break-in.

A few feet away in the kitchen, the culprits had helped themselves to a little snack, which, to my mind, confirmed what I'd already suspected — that we were probably dealing with rebellious teenagers. Several drawers and cupboards had been left open as they searched for anything of value, perhaps a cache of money. We'd gotten into the habit of keeping a few twenties in the sugar bowl for last minute purchases such as milk or bread and sure enough I found the container empty and turned on its side at the back of the cupboard.

They'd left the fridge wide open and a half empty jug of orange juice sat on the kitchen counter alongside the box of Arrowroot cookies we kept on hand to help Hope deal with the challenges of teething. I'd slipped a few of the cookies into her diaper bag before we'd left to meet Peter and I couldn't recall if I'd put the box away. What I did know for certain was that the package of Oreo cookies Sara relied on to get her through the worst of her PMS had been safely tucked away in the cupboard when I'd left the house. Now, it sat empty on the counter. Like the Grinch, they'd left nothing but crumbs.

I emptied out what was left of the juice and threw the empty container into the recycling bin before cleaning up the rest of the mess, disposing of the empty Oreo package and the box of Arrowroot cookies before letting Sara and Hope into the house.

I heated up some homemade vegetable soup for dinner and threw together some sandwiches but Sara didn't have much of an appetite. As Hope sat mostly gumming her food, Sara blathered on about whether or not we'd made a mistake buying this house, how this might not be the safe neighbourhood we'd thought it was. For a woman whose daily work life consisted of dealing with thieves, fences and generally unsavoury characters, it was surprising to see her anxiety level skyrocket when her private space was invaded. Luckily, Hope didn't seem to notice her mom's rather agitated state. She sat there chattering as she always did, pointing to things on the table and naming them, asking for more milk in her sippy cup, whining as she grew tired and bedtime loomed.

We usually divided and conquered after dinner. One of us would tend to Hope while the other tidied up in the kitchen in the hopes that we might carve out a few minutes for ourselves before we both fell into bed, exhausted. Surprisingly, Sara insisted we go up together for Hope's bedtime routine. I didn't have the heart to say no. We gave her a bath, got her changed into her jammies and then the three of us lay in our bed and together, we read her a bedtime story before putting her down for the night.

When we got back downstairs, I got busy making a few phone calls while Sara rinsed the dinner dishes and dealt with the leftovers. The first call I made was to the local police to report the break-in, a rather pointless exercise I'll grant you, but necessary all the same. If there'd been other similar break-ins in the neighbourhood, maybe they'd be able to piece together some clues or figure out a pattern that would help them identify future targets.

I flashed back a dozen years or so to a series of heists Mozzie and I had pulled down in Cusco. We'd been interested in a particular collection of South-American amulets and we'd been targeting wealthy owners of those rare but very specific pieces. Sure enough, on our third foray, the cops had been lying in wait, having figured out what had become a familiar pattern. We'd just barely gotten away, victims of our own methodic planning.

But I digress.

After I hung up from talking to a helpful sergeant named Woods, I moved on to my next call while Sara stood at the kitchen sink pretending to fuss over the soup pot when she was really just listening in. In the background, I could hear Hope humming away through the baby monitor on the kitchen counter, singing herself to sleep as she often did. She hit a particularly shrill note as I finished up on the phone and I turned to face my wife, intent on giving her the lowdown.

'So?' she prodded.

'They've got that model in stock' I said, pointing to the image on the open laptop. We'd zeroed in on a state of the art alarm system although she and I were both aware that I could probably disarm the damn thing in thirty seconds flat — with my eyes closed and one hand tied behind my back. But then again, I probably wasn't a typical homeowner in that sense - or a typical kid trying to break-in to a neighbour's house.

'They're coming by tomorrow at two to install it' I informed her.

Sara sighed. 'We both know an alarm isn't going to keep someone from breaking in Neal. What if you're home alone with Hope?'

I moved in a little closer in a futile attempt to reassure her. 'Honey, alarms are a deterrent in about seventy percent of cases' I bluffed.

I had no idea what the actual percentage was but I'd recently read something about the effectiveness of home alarms systems. Seventy percent sounded about right. Anyway, Sara was all about stats and percentages so this was definitely the way to go.

'What? You working for the alarm companies now?' she quipped in that snarky way she had of dismissing me when I was trying to pull a fast one on her.

I brought my hand to rest on her arm. 'Babe, it'll be fine. It was just a fluke.'

There was a flash of anger in her eyes. 'A fluke? Is that what you call it? Neal, they could have been armed…'

'Sara, they were just kids' I argued.

'Well, maybe next time it won't be… just kids.'

I could see her getting increasingly agitated and I began to fear she would deign to raise the taboo subject I'd thus far refused to discuss.

She got a very intense look in her eyes and I braced myself for what seemed inevitable. 'Neal, maybe it's time we consider getting a g—'

I pulled away, raising my hand to stop her. 'We're not going there, Sara. Not again.'

'But Neal —'

'I've told you before, I don't want to talk about it' I shot back curtly.

I could hear the defensiveness creeping into my voice. We'd had the discussion on a couple of occasions and I didn't want to have it again. For me it was settled law, like Roe v. Wade. I was _not_ prepared to revisit the topic. Not now, not ever.

Sara's eyes darkened. 'You're being totally unreasonable!' she barked at me.

I didn't want to engage her. Reopening the debate would only lead to another locking of horns on a subject we would likely never see eye to eye on. I could feel my legs growing restless, eager to walk away from a brewing argument, away from her.

I just shook my head and looked away. I could feel my blood boiling.

'Neal, this is ridiculous. We have to be able to protect ourselves. Don't you care about Hope?'

OUCH!

I couldn't believe she'd just said that. Using our daughter to make her argument was totally off limits. I reacted the only way any parent would when accused of not putting their kids first.

'Don't you dare!' I said, much more loudly than I'd meant to. 'Don't use Hope to make your point.'

I could see Sara's eyes soften a little, realizing she'd gone too far.

'Just tell me, please' she implored. 'Why is this such a hot button issue for you? We could talk it out, find a compromise.'

My legs began to carry me towards the front of the house despite myself. _Great Caffrey! Go ahead and run away, that's a great way to deal with things. Go back to your old ways of deflection and avoidance. _

Being married was supposed to be all about sharing my thoughts and feelings with my life partner but I was still struggling with that notion. There were things about my past I hadn't shared with my wife. Or with anyone else for that matter.

'I'm going out' I grumbled as I walked or rather stomped out of the kitchen. I grabbed my jacket from the nearby hook and tugged it on.

'Don't wait up for me!' I added rather dramatically for good measure.

Who was I kidding? I was going to take a walk around the fucking block. How long was that going to take? Maybe ten minutes. If I walked slow.

Upstairs, I could hear Hope humming away and then she stopped suddenly.

'Poppa?' she called out.

I didn't bother to look at Sara. I simply glanced up the stairs towards the sound of our daughter's voice.

'I've put in my hours today' I griped bitterly. 'She's all yours.'

I stepped out the front door and slammed it behind me by way of punctuation, basically trying to get in the last word although Sara had appeared too shocked to say much at all. I marched down the driveway at a clipped pace, just like the angry, petulant toddler I was imitating quite effectively. I suddenly felt silly about my little outburst but I kept up my hurried pace just in case Sara was watching my little display from the window. Once I got to the end of the driveway, I turned decisively to my right towards Edgewood Drive as if I knew exactly where I was headed although in fact, I had no real destination in mind.

The street was quiet at this hour. The sun was setting and most of the kids had gone in for the night. Lights had begun to come on in the houses up and down our street, making them look warm and inviting. Ours was a short street, barely three blocks long. It ran between two more travelled thoroughfares which wrapped around our neighbourhood and served as a cocoon for our little section of Prospect Park. As far as excitement and vibrancy, this was probably the furthest thing from what I'd known living at June's but I had to admit I was beginning to appreciate the less frantic rhythm of suburbia: the slow pace, the wide, open spaces, the muted silence.

I spotted one of our neighbours up ahead, putting out his trash. He was a guy about my age, dark hair, with a full beard and tortoise shell glasses - looked like an intellectual type. I'd noticed him out on the street a couple of times, pushing a stroller but we'd never been properly introduced.

He waved as I got closer and I slowed the pace, turning my scowl into a friendly smile as only I could do.

'Hi!' I called out as I reached the end of his driveway.

'Hey, neighbour' he replied, putting out his hand. 'Welcome to the neighbourhood. I'm Jeff Mason' he added with a friendly smile.

'Neal Caffrey' I replied, reverting to my adult self.

'So, you're the one who bought the old Morrison place?'

'Guilty as charged' I said, glancing over his shoulder at his house.

It was similar in size to ours, but there were newly sprouted spring flowers and I could see a lilac bush by the side of the house beginning to bloom. The guy obviously took pride in his home and property - as did most of the neighbours on the street. I thought again about how I really should get going on planting some shrubs and flowers out front before the warm weather arrived.

'I'm sure you'll like it around here. It's a great neighbourhood to raise kids' Jeff said. 'Do you have any children?'

'My wife and I have a one-year-old' I replied without much hesitation.

After almost a year of married life, I was finally getting used to referring to Sara as my wife without feeling all weirded out about it.

'You'll love it around here. People are really friendly' the man said.

'Well, we had a rude awakening this afternoon' I said, eager to share my woes with someone. 'We had a break-in at our house.'

'You're kidding! Wow, that's the third one this month.'

My ears perked up.

'The Watsons got hit a couple of weeks ago and the Stevenses, right next to your place, they had their electronics stolen just last week.'

Maybe I wouldn't bother sharing that little tidbit of information with Sara. At least not just yet.

'I caught them red-handed when we got home around six' I explained.

'They?'

'There were two of them. Looked like a couple of teenagers.'

Jeff shook his head in dismay. 'You know, I think that might be the first actual sighting of them. Did you report it to the police?

'Yeah, just now. Spoke to the desk sergeant, some guy named Woods' I replied.

'Ah, Adam Woods. Yeah, really nice guy, he lives a couple of streets over' Jeff said, pausing for a moment. 'Some of us have been talking about setting up a neighbourhood watch program.'

My eyebrows shot up. I could really get into that. Who better than an ex-con to help develop an effective anti-crime strategy for the neighbourhood. I could share my unique insights into a thief's mindset, offer some preventative measures to help avoid further incidents. I stood there, waiting for an invitation. It didn't take long to materialize.

'Tell you what, some of the guys are getting together over at Garth Schneider's place tomorrow night to discuss it. Why don't you come along? Give you a chance to meet some of the neighbours, you know, two birds, one stone.'

'That'd be great' I said, glancing around the street aimlessly. 'Schneiders?' I repeated.

'Right over there at 4793' Jeff volunteered as he pointed across the street. 'Nice people, although Garth tends to get a little overly competitive when we have our Christmas decorating contest.'

Christmas decorating contest, I thought. How lame!

'Most of the neighbours decorate for the holidays' he further explained. 'We have fun with it, make it a friendly competition.'

I nodded although I just couldn't see myself getting worked up about putting up a blow-up Santa and a couple of wooden elves on my front lawn.

'So… seven thirty, tomorrow night' Jeff said with a smile. 'You like basketball Neal? We're going to put on the Knicks game while we chat.'

I plastered on an exaggerated look of excitement. 'Yeah, I love basketball!'

We shook hands once more. 'See you tomorrow.'

WCWCWC

'Hey El!' Sara said into the phone. 'Is Peter around?'

She heard Elizabeth tsk-tsk on the other end of the line. 'What? You don't want to talk to me?'

'No… I mean yes, of course I do. There's just something I need to run by Peter, that's all.'

Elizabeth leaned back from her perch at the kitchen counter where she'd been sipping tea while going over some stuff for work. Peter was lying on the couch exactly where she'd left him an hour earlier. His head was thrown back and his eyes were closed but the TV was still on full blast.

'What's going on?' Elizabeth asked, getting to her feet and moving towards the living room.

The sound of her voice roused Peter who sat up and gave her a questioning glance.

'Sara' Elizabeth mouthed.

'We had a break-in today' Sara blurted out.

'At work?'

Peter sat up, suddenly curious.

'No, at home.'

'Oh no, did they take anything?'

Peter was reaching for the phone now, trying to wrestle it away from his wife.

El frowned and gave in. 'Just a sec, here's Peter.'

'What happened?' he said as he put the phone to his ear.

'Nothing… just a little suburban break-in' Sara replied casually although Peter picked up on a certain edge in her voice.

'We're getting an alarm system put in but… well, I brought up the gun thing again and…'

'Oh no! Let me guess, he wasn't very receptive.'

'That's putting it mildly.'

For as long as they'd been working together, Peter had been on the receiving end of his ex-CI's mysterious silences when it came to the subject of firearms. Neal hated guns - not that he would have been allowed within fifty feet of one considering he was still serving his sentence. But due to the nature of the work, Neal had been around guns plenty and they always made him cringe. Peter recalled how Neal had gone undercover during the Avery Phillips case, how he'd shown off his skeet shooting skills without much enthusiasm. He'd also overcome his dislike long enough to point one at Fowler when he'd suspected him of being responsible for Kate's death.

Neal might hate guns but he handled them like a pro.

'So what happened?'

'He got all… weird on me. Stomped out of here faster than…' Sara's voice grew dim, '… faster than a speeding bullet. Peter, I just don't get. I mean, I understand that he wasn't crazy about me sleeping with a gun under the mattress and I felt safe at June's but here, I feel so… exposed. We have no way of defending ourselves if someone breaks in again.'

Peter sighed. 'If you're asking me to take sides, you know I can't do that Sara.'

'I know… I just thought you might try to get something out of him. Some sort of an explanation for why he's so adamant about this. He refuses to talk to me about it.'

'Some people just don't like the idea of guns in a house. There are plenty of arguments against it, especially if there are kids around.'

'Peter, if I wanted to hear those arguments, I'd still be talking to Neal.'

'I'm just saying, firearms aren't for everybody and there's plenty of evidence that the gun owner is just as much at risk as any intruder.'

Sara grew quiet, brooding no doubt. Peter felt compelled to speak up.

'Look, let me have another go at him, okay? Try to get a handle on it, maybe help us both understand where this is all coming from.'

'Thanks' Sara said, her voice quiet. Her hand lingered on the case file Neal had brought home. She flipped through the pages.

'I see you were able to find something for Neal to look at.'

It was Peter's turn to sigh. He hadn't liked playing Neal but Sara had called in a favour and he hadn't had the heart to say no.

'Don't ask me again, all right?' he said. 'I could hardly look him in the eye. Neal is smart, he's going to figure out sooner or later that I'm recycling old cases to give him something to do.'

'Well, thanks Peter. I really appreciate it. I'm worried he's getting bored with all this domestic stuff.'

'Well, maybe he can give us a hand on an honest to goodness _unresolved_ case before too long' Peter replied.

Sara nodded. 'You want to put El on for a minute?'

WCWCWC

I'd gone around the block five times when I realized I really should be getting back. It was getting cool and I'd calmed down enough to want to head home and see if we could get past this for tonight and try to get some sleep. I was on my last loop around Edgewood Drive when I spotted Roger's Market up ahead over in the next block. It was our neighbourhood convenience store, a great place to have nearby if you ever ran out of milk or bread. But the prices were astronomical - highway robbery - and you'd never catch me buying an apple let alone a five dollar head of wilted lettuce there but hey… desperate times called for desperate measures.

I jogged across the street and stepped in to find Roger himself manning the cash with no other customer in sight. We exchanged pleasantries and I wandered up a couple aisles before I spotted what I'd come for.

'Late night cravings?' the man said as I paid for my purchases.

'You might say that' I replied - more like trying to keep my marriage from blowing up, I reflected.

We bid each other goodnight and I headed back out into the night with my purchases.

It was dark by know, the sun barely leaving a streak of colour in the night sky. As I got closer to our house, I noticed that the porch light was turned off when it should have come on with the timer. Sara must have turned it off just to annoy me. In general, she tended to deal with disagreements head on but she could do passive-aggressive as well as anybody else if she was pushed too hard. I fiddled with my key in the lock and stepped into the front hall to the sound of Sara, slamming cupboards in the kitchen.

I threw off my jacket and headed back there, my purchase tucked behind my back.

'Where the hell are they?' I could hear her mumbling as she slammed some more. It was a miracle Hope was sleeping through the ruckus.

'Hey, hey! What's going on?' I said, stepping in to find her looking rattled.

'I can't find my goddamn cookies' she grumbled under her breath.

I did a quick mental calculation, realizing she was due to start her period any minute. She was very transparent when it came to her cycle. As a matter of fact, I didn't need a calendar to know what day she was on, I just gauged where she was at by observing her mood swings. The days preceding her period were a land-mine and could go either way: she could bite my head off as easily as she could turn into a seductress - there was no rhyme or reason. So I avoided getting into too many discussions during those explosive days, just went with the flow and hoped for the best.

Then, when her period hit, she'd become tired and irritable for the duration, testy, short-tempered, bristly. Around day five, something magical seemed to happen: without warning, there would be an almost instantaneous change in her mood, especially when it came to sex. She'd go from detached and disinterested to attentive and loving in just a matter of hours and for the next ten days or so, she'd be her old wonderful self, relaxed, happy, playful, often initiating sex right up to the day of her ovulation when it would all come crashing down and she might as well be wearing a sign on her forehead that said 'closed for business'.

I loved my wife and I was more than eager to make love to her whenever and wherever the mood struck so I tried to get it while the going was good. There was no point in cajoling her into sex after that, right up until a day or two before the end of her cycle.

And then, joy! It would start all over again.

'Where did _you_ put _my_ cookies?' she asked, staring at me intently.

Okay, that was a totally loaded question: I'D done something wrong and they were HER cookies. I could have tried to save myself by telling her the truth but I wasn't about to tell her that her precious cookies had been devoured by a couple of hungry teens who were on a rampage, breaking into neighbouring houses.

Instead, I brought my hand out from behind my back with a flourish and presented her with one of my purchases.

Her eyes shone brightly. 'Oh, you got double-stuffed!' she said with such glee you might have thought I'd presented her with a brand new car.

She grabbed the cookies from my hand and without hesitation, ripped the package open. She was lightning quick and I think I counted all of five seconds before she'd stuffed two whole cookies into her mouth.

Talk about double stuffed.

She moaned as she chewed, not her best look to be honest. But I could see the need was so urgent, the relief so merciful that I held back and just watched the look in her eyes go from desperate and distraught to practically orgasmic.

'Better?' I asked as she nodded and went for number three.

'These are so good' she said, her mouth full.

I couldn't help but smile at the sight of her. Her cheeks bulged out like a chipmunk, her eyes were practically rolling back in her head and she was making those over-the-top moaning sounds she usually reserved for the bedroom. She smiled at me and I could see chocolate stuck in her teeth, making her look like a five-year-old who'd just gotten a visit from the tooth fairy.

'I got you these too' I said, pulling a couple of candy bars from my back jeans pocket.

Again, her face lit up like a Christmas tree as I held them out for her.

'Truce?' I said, bringing my hands to rest on her hips.

She stared back at me as if I'd grown a second head. Whatever was in those cookies must have been messing with her memory because she seemed to have forgotten all about our earlier argument. Instead, she ripped open a Mars bar and took a giant bite out of it before lacing her arms around my neck.

'Truce' she replied, her mouth brimming with various forms of chocolate.

She kissed me. Not like a quick peck on the lips but a full-on, open mouthed kiss, the kind that made my toes curl and was usually a prelude to something more. I tasted the chocolate and cream combination mixed with caramel - not my thing really but I wasn't about to complain.

When she pulled back and gave me another toothless grin, I figured I just needed to go with it. She'd be back for round two of our disagreement eventually but in the meantime, I was going to enjoy this little interlude before she started moaning about stomach cramps instead of in reaction to my performance between the sheets.

'You want to go upstairs?' she asked naughtily. I glanced at the clock on the stove: nine thirty. Going up this early could only mean one thing.

'Yeah' I breathed out in a whisper.

Perhaps I should have been offended that she grabbed for the rest of the cookies but I was beyond that. Not only had we managed to avoid a blow-up, I was about to go to sleep with a smile on my face.

Once upstairs, she settled into bed with the cookies between us and I was hard pressed to know if she was turned on by me or the taste of the Oreos. She threw back a few more and then, without me needing to ask, she went into the ensuite and brushed her teeth - for which I was grateful.

In the end, it didn't matter. The cookies were pushed aside and I managed to get her full attention for a good twenty minutes before we settled in for a restful sleep.

'Oh, by the way' she said, curled up in my arms. 'I noticed the porch light is burned out. You'll need to change it.'

Awwww… and to think I'd thought ill of her just moments before.

'I'll do it tomorrow' I assured her.

My mind wandered.

'By the way, the pharmacy still hasn't called to say your prescription is ready' I said, enjoying the warmth of her body against mine. It was my job to run all errands connected with our household and understandably, I had my share of responsibility in making sure our preferred birth control method was always available. It was the least I could do.

'I didn't renew it' she murmured with all the significance attached to her statement.

I looked down at her in the semi-dark room. 'Really?'

She could probably see the wide smile on my face because she reciprocated with one of her own.

'Yeah… I decided you're right. There's no reason to wait any longer to start on number two.'

My smile morphed into more of a satisfied groan. I'd known she was on the verge of caving in but I was still pleasantly surprised it hadn't taken more of an effort on my part.

'You up for that Caffrey?' she added.

'You know I am' I whispered, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

'Maybe twins this time' I mused.

'You trying to talk me out of this or what?' she replied with a sharp elbow to my ribs.

'Just saying, twins run in your family and I think one of my cousins had twins.'

She looked up at me, her eyes wide. I figured I should quit while I was ahead.

I leaned down to kiss her and heard the soft thud of the package of Oreos as it tumbled off the bed. For the overly inflated price of $4.99, I had managed to duck an argument and I'd gotten a commitment to growing our family. Not a bad deal.

'Thanks Roger' I murmured under my breath as I pulled my wife into a warm embrace.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Perhaps surprisingly, there wasn't a heck of a lot of down time in my day to day life as a stay-at-home dad. One might think such a lifestyle would afford me the luxury of free time during the day but quite the opposite was true. Oh sure, I got to take full advantage of warm, sunny days by taking Hope for walks to the park - likely the envy of all those bureaucrats locked up in their office towers, constrained by walls, itchy suits and suffocating ties. They worked without respite, waiting for noon to come around so they could get a quick bite to eat before returning to the grind. I, on the other hand, dressed as I pleased for my day job and I ate whenever I damn well felt like it and I might even get a few minutes to close my eyes while Hope and I cuddled together on the couch in the company of Bert and Ernie.

But my days were organized around the endless needs of my one-year-old daughter. She needed set routines, a safe environment, opportunities to play, to rest, to eat, to get some fresh air, to socialize and basically, to have all her basic needs met. Then, there were our needs as a family: making sure there was always plenty to eat in the house, making sure healthy meals got on the table on time, ensuring we all had clean clothes to wear, that our banking got done, that dry-cleaning got picked up, that errands were run in a timely fashion, that the house was tidy and inviting, a place where all three of us could enjoy living together as a family.

Most of all, providing care for a one-year-old meant you could never take your eye off the ball. Not even for a minute. Not unlike conmen, children were curious and adventurous and it took but a moment for them to get into trouble - usually right when you'd turned your head away for a brief second.

The only safe places for Hope (without me hovering over her constantly) were her highchair and her crib - and the safety of the latter was up for debate considering her recent escapades. I didn't believe in playpens - perhaps it was my many years living in an eight by six enclosure surrounded by metal bars. No kid of mine was going to be constrained to such a restricted space when there was a whole world out there to explore.

On Thursday morning, I set up at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and Hope next to me in her highchair with a stack of books. She loved looking at pictures and prattling on about everything and nothing. On this particular day, I had my own reading to do. I'd meant to take a look at the case file Peter had given me before going to sleep the night before… but hey, something had 'popped' up that was a lot more interesting than mortgage fraud and when opportunity came knocking… well, you gladly opened the door.

I took a sip of coffee and ran the tips of my fingers over the raised letters 'FBI' on the pale blue folder, wondering just how many of these things I'd held in my hands over the years.

'Oggie!' Hope called out as she pointed to a picture of a dog in the book she was 'reading'.

'A _big_ doggie!' I replied distractedly as I opened the file and began to peruse its contents.

I hadn't read an FBI case file in about six months, ever since the day Peter had removed my anklet for the last time. I'd looked forward to that day for so long: the moment when I would finally be free to make my own decisions and go where I pleased without accounting for my actions to anyone. I let my hand linger absentmindedly down my leg towards my naked ankle and smiled. Surprisingly, not having that constant presence on my left leg had taken a while to get used to.

The anklet had been both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it was just plain annoying. It chafed my skin, made wearing socks a nightmare and rendered it impossible to walk around in shorts in warm weather or to hide its significance from all those curious on-lookers. In bed, my wife cursed whenever I unwittingly slammed it against her delicate skin, leaving bruises on her feet and legs and leading to sharp elbows to my ribs. More importantly, it had been a constant reminder that the federal justice system and I had some unfinished business, that I had a debt to pay to society and that until that debt was fully paid, I would never be the master of my own destiny.

On the flip side, it had acted as a security blanket of sorts, a deterrent against lawlessness and a constant and not unpleasant connection to Peter. On many occasions, it had kept me from acting on my more dangerous impulses, it had kept me safe from myself and had grounded me in a way I'd discovered over time that I hadn't half minded.

At first glance, some might be tempted to compare marriage and parenthood to walking around with an anklet, the old 'ball and chain', a constant shackle to domestic drudgery. But they would be wrong. Marriage held none of the negative connotations I'd associated over the years with my electronic monitoring anklet. Rather, marriage and fatherhood had been a deliberate choice, entered into willingly and gleefully, a safe, loving haven where Sara and I shared common goals and enjoyed life with our beautiful baby daughter.

'Woof, woof' Hope said, eyes glued to her book. She clapped her hands but didn't look up, perfectly content to amuse herself while I tried to concentrate on the report that sat before me.

I sipped my coffee and reread the initial notes Jones had made - handwritten in that horrible script of his. The notes were of his first meeting with the Federal Bank which, upon doing its branch wide reconciliation, had discovered they'd been swindled out of several million dollars. The money had been paid out through fraudulent demand drafts cashed at their location and emanating from five different cities.

I was hooked within a few pages. Sure, I'd complained incessantly about being saddled with boring mortgage fraud cases but the truth was, they were fun little mysteries just waiting to be unravelled. They mainly fell into one of four categories and it was fun to watch the evidence pile up and the pieces fall together like a jigsaw puzzle. Peter was always amazed at how quickly I would manage to put things together but I had a clear advantage over him, having been a participant in a couple of such scams back in the day. I knew what it took to get away with it which unfortunately, was not the case when it came to the poor saps whose crimes fell into my lap.

Within minutes of laying eyes on the file, I deduced that this kind of scheme could only have been successful with collaboration from the inside. I smiled to myself; part of me loved the thought of mega-rich banks getting ripped off by one of their peons, a lowly cashier or office worker who was paid a mere fraction of what the obscenely rich bank executives were pulling in. There was a certain symmetry to it all, a certain cosmic equilibrium to having such schemes go undetected - or at least unpunished.

'Poppa!' Hope called out, drawing my attention away from what I'd been reading.

She pointed to the kitchen cupboard where we kept our staples and made a motion with her lips opening and closing repeatedly. She still couldn't say the word 'fishies' but whenever I offered her some of the crackers, I'd gotten into the habit of repeating the word while I made the funny face. I'd noticed she'd begun to mimic me in order to get her point across.

I might look silly with my eyes bulging out and my cheeks puffed up but Hope looked adorable, her pink cheeks protruding and her little heart shaped mouth working hard to open and close. I noticed her eyes were also blinking - a reflex, I guess - and I started to laugh.

'You want some fishies?' I asked as I reached into the cupboard and brought out the package of crackers.

She nodded and clapped.

'Fishies' I repeated, this time minus the scrunched up face. 'Can you say _'fishies'_ sweet pea?'

She grunted and pointed.

'Fishies' I repeated, encouraging her to speak.

Her eyes narrowed in a pout and she pointed again. There was a rule in our house; you had to at least try to say the word if you wanted something but she was having none of it. She began pumping her face madly once more, mouth opening and closing, arms waving for good measure. I held one of the crackers up at eye level as an incentive and repeated the word once more. But the little monkey was quick and she grabbed it out of my hand and popped it into her mouth before I could even react.

Things went downhill from there with me insisting she try to repeat the word and Hope, just as stubbornly refusing to do so. The books which, a moment earlier, had held all her attention, were dumped to the floor one by one in an act of open defiance. She began to whine which led to crocodile tears which led to moaning and eventually out and out sobbing. I glanced up at the clock, noticing she'd gone past her regular morning nap time.

Apparently, this wasn't about crackers at all. Her arms reached out for me and she grabbed my shirt, squeezing her face into that spot between my chin and shoulder and letting her thumb find its way between those plump baby lips of hers.

'All right' I said in a conciliatory tone. 'I get it. You're tired. Time to go curl up with elephant in your bed.'

She grew silent except for the loud sucking sound and by the time I put her down in her crib and placed her pink elephant against her body, her eyes had closed and her thumb had fallen out of her open mouth.

WCWCWC

Sara waited in the inner sanctum of Winston Bosch's lofty suite. She'd sat there on many occasions but never had she been there to unload to her boss about one of her co-workers - least of all, one that was related to him. She tended to suck things up when it came to work relations although she'd had plenty of legitimate reasons to complain in the past. Insurance investigation was a rough and tumble business, not for the weak of heart and over the years, she'd had co-workers - mostly of the male variety - display inappropriate behaviour more times than she could count. She'd been lied to, tripped up, sent on wild goose chases, flirted with, pawed, ridiculed and just plain put down over the years… all without a word of complaint on her part.

The cutthroat workplace at Sterling Bosch was much like being back in middle school. You wanted to be seen as one of the cool kids - but not so cool you got a bullseye on your back and had people trying to sabotage you so they could take your place at the top of heap. You wanted to collaborate with others but not be seen as a pushover; if you were seen as a victim or a wuss, you would lose your credibility and the word would get around. You needed to know who you could trust - which frankly was limited to very few people.

Overall, it was best to shut up, do your job as best you could and keep your cards close to your vest. If someone played you or tried to discredit you somehow, you needed to learn to play the long game. What is it they say? Revenge is a dish better served cold. Sara had learned that lesson long ago and she had the patience to wait until the right moment to strike against her nemeses.

With years of practice, she'd learned to come out on top. Most of the time.

'Mr. Bosch will see you now' said his assistant, snapping Sara out of her reverie.

The woman looked like a live version of Jessica Rabbit, her slim waist and round butt sitting atop long lean legs.

Sara got to her feet and followed the woman inside at a decisive clip. She had some news for the boss regarding his precious nephew that, chances were, he wouldn't be too happy to hear.

Winston Bosch looked up but his gaze settled on his assistant instead of Sara.

'Thank you Iris' he said with a nod and a wink as the woman retreated.

'Sara, have a seat' the man said, barely looking up from the open file on his desk.

He glanced up at her and gave her what was meant as a smile but was more of a sneer.

'I want to thank you again for taking Mitch under your wing. I think you're doing a fine job of molding him into a competent insurance investigator. I knew you were the right person for the job.'

Sara cleared her throat. This was going to be trickier than she'd expected.

'Thank you sir' she muttered. 'I thought you might appreciate a report on how things are going.'

'Of course' he mumbled, returning his gaze to whatever sat upon his desk.

'Sir, the truth is… despite my best efforts, there are some challenges with Mitch that I feel compelled to share with you.'

'Challenges?' he repeated.

'Challenges. Sir, I've noticed that Mitch is having difficulty working productively with the rest of the members of our team. Especially the female employees.'

Winston Bosch stared back with a frown. Although he'd never acted inappropriately towards Sara, he had a reputation as quite the cad himself. He was a benevolent leader and a good motivator but he did have a mean streak when things didn't go as planned and he'd been known to chew people out in the middle of a staff meeting if he felt the person in question hadn't gotten the desired results. Furthermore, word around the office was that he'd bedded pretty well all of his assistants over the years - although he was known for spoiling them rotten with baubles and expensive trips.

In the case of his nephew, perhaps the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree.

'What exactly are you trying to say Sara?'

'Mr. Bosch, Mitch has been with me for over two weeks now and I haven't seen much improvement in his attitude. He's shown himself to be arrogant with all our female staff, belligerent and argumentative and on top of everything else, he's been reckless in his approach to our clients. As you know, a large part of our job is to liaise with our clients, hold their hand on occasion…'

'What are you insinuating Sara?'

Sara took a deep breath. She wasn't insinuating anything, she was downright saying it. Mitchell Harold Dunlop III was a douchebag, a lowlife, someone who had no respect for those around him whether they were co-workers or clients. You didn't turn someone like that around in a couple of weeks.

'It's a real balancing act, finding a way to work with clients and yet be a go-getter, not afraid to dig until you come up with what you're looking for. And it takes a lot of patience. Mitch is… impulsive. Yesterday, he actually blew a lead I had on the Van Dyke case. When we got to our meeting place, my source got spooked and stormed out because Mitch pretty well announced to the whole restaurant that we were there to get confidential information. Sir, I can't have that. You know I'm trying to come back from a six month leave of absence. I can't afford to lose this one.'

'I know that' the man said. 'And I've always considered you one of my best. You're clawing your way back to the top of the heap and mentoring Mitchell is helping you do that.'

The message was clear; she needed to play ball here if she had a hope in hell of getting those juicy cases she craved. The boss man seemed oblivious to his nephew's shortcomings. At least for now.

Sara nodded, feeling defeated. She would have to find a way to make this work.

'Oh, and Mitch asked if you could start the paperwork going in order to get him a firearm' Bosh said. 'I think that makes sense, don't you?'

Sara's inner voice screamed. NOOOOO!

She nodded and stood. 'I'll get right on that sir.'

WCWCWC

I took advantage of the relative silence in the house to finish up reading that FBI case file. The clues were all pointing in the same direction. Some bank employee - or employees - who had access to demand draft codes was authorizing fake mortgage loans to individuals and had done so successfully not once, not twice but five times in five different cities - which meant he had accomplices. The scheme was well thought out and well timed to avoid scrutiny by the individual branches. Furthermore, all loans had been finalized at the New York Branch which, if the information in the file could be believed, had been rather careless about following protocol. Consequently, the bank was out over twenty-five million bucks.

I immediately suspected that the mastermind behind this scheme was employed at the New York branch and I perused the lengthy list of employees, intent on doing some research. When I turned to page five of the report, I could see that Jones and company had arrived at the same conclusion. So far, so good. Now, all that was left was to look into that list to see if there had been any links to organized crime or signs of unusual activity in someone's bank account - if they'd had the hutzpah not to re-route the funds from a remote location. Stranger things had happened; plenty of masterminds were downright sloppy or stupid when it came to covering up their tracks.

As if reading a mystery novel, I flipped the pages to get to the end, wondering how far Jones had gotten with his research. I dropped the pen I'd been holding, hearing it ping as it tumbled to the floor.

Well, son of a bitch!

WCWCWC

I was still fuming when the guy from the alarm company showed up on our doorstep a few minutes past two o'clock. His arrival momentarily took my mind off the case and instead, triggered a mental replay of my recent argument with Sara. We'd barely said a word to each other before she'd left for work, looking a lot more prickly than she'd seemed lying in my arms last night. A quick once over of the bathroom following her departure confirmed what I'd suspected. She was on the rag and that spoke volumes about her current mood. I began to wonder if our new alarm system might ignite round two of our little disagreement when she finally got home.

While the guy was fiddling with the installation, Moz returned my call.

'Yo' he called out.

Yo? He must be hanging out with that young crew he'd recently met in the Bronx. Now that I was out of commission, at least as far as our previous extracurricular activities, he'd begun to shop around for new associates. He'd started wearing a doo rag on occasion and his language had morphed into what you might hear if you hung around with young black dudes whose pants sagged below their butt while they shot hoops in the 'hood.

'Sup?' he said as I frowned.

'I was wondering if you wanted to come over for dinner tonight?' I asked, just as I'd rehearsed.

Sara had asked me to soften him up. Apparently, he'd skipped out on her in the middle of a case they were collaborating on and she desperately needed to get him alone so she could undo some of the damage she'd done the previous day.

'Hum… you're _inviting _me over for dinner?'

'What are you talking about? You have dinner over here at least a couple of times a week' I reminded him. 'Every week.'

'Yeah man, but I don't wait for an invitation. I like to… you know be the master of my own destiny… decide where and when I go places.'

'I'm making fajitas' I said tantalizingly. 'I know how much you like them - I'm doing both beef _and _chicken' I added as I opened the freezer door to make sure I had chicken on hand.

'I don't know…' Mozzie said. 'I kind of like deciding for myself whether or not I want to drop by. I pride myself on not waiting for an invitation.'

I could hear Mozzie's breathing accelerating. 'Does this have anything to do with little Miss Repo and what happened yesterday?'

I attempted to get him off track. 'That's _Mrs_. Repo, Moz. And what does Sara have to do with me inviting you over for fajitas. I'm not even sure she'll be home in time for dinner' I lied.

I had him on the hook with the menu and I knew it. 'Look, why don't we pretend I didn't call and invite you and you can decide to come over on a whim. I'll let you play with our new alarm system.'

There was an audible sigh on the other end.

'We'll see' Mozzie finally said but I knew I had him. Both chicken and beef fajitas _and_ a new alarm system to fiddle with… come on!

Hope, who'd been tucked into my hip, finally spoke up, tapping my cheek rather forcefully in an attempt to get my attention.

I winced and she made a happy gurgling sound which I tried to pass off as more.

'See? Even Hope is asking for you.'

'Did she really just say my name?' Mozzie asked. I could imagine the smile on his face.

'Later Moz' I replied, leaving him to wonder.

Within thirty minutes, our new alarm system was fully functional and the guy who'd installed it spent much longer than necessary explaining its proper operation.

If he only knew….

I thanked him and with a happy and rested Hope in my arms, I sent him on his way.

My argument with Sara wasn't the only thing on my mind. I was royally pissed off at Peter and I'd been tempted to go charging into his office down at the Federal Building to give him a piece of my mind. But it was almost three o'clock and I needed to get dinner on the table and cleaned up so I could head on over to the Schneiders' place for that little meeting - and, yay, basketball.

Groan.

I decided to put into practice my newfound ability to control my impulses and save my ire towards Peter for later - when I could really light into him.

One drama at a time.

I carried Hope into the kitchen and almost as if she could sense my surly mood, she pinched my nose and giggled - our own private shortcut for saying '_I love you_'. Try as I might, I couldn't help but smile.

'Fishies' she shouted clear as a bell as she clapped her hands.

WCWCWC

In the end, Moz _did_ show up for dinner and Sara _was _in a foul mood when she came home, a mood that mellowed almost instantly when she spotted Mozzie sipping on a glass of Chardonnay with Hope sitting on his lap.

'Thanks' she murmured as she gave me a quick peck on the cheek.

That was definitely the best I was going to get. It was fortuitous that I was going out for the evening. It would give the two of them a chance to talk things out, whatever it was they had to work out. To be honest, I tried hard to stay out of their little machinations as much as possible. Not that I wasn't curious, I _was_ of course but I'd figured out early on that, with Sara, it was best not to pry too much into what went on over at Sterling Bosch. Of course, most of the people she worked with knew about my less than stellar past and they'd learned to turn a blind eye to the fact that I'd had an obscenely expensive Sterling Bosch insured painting in my possession for the better part of seven years while they searched high and low for it. Whether or not Sara had been grilled by her boss on the thorny subject, she had too much class to say but it couldn't have been easy for her to be the investigator who'd up and married the art thief who had caused them so much grief.

'I shouldn't be too late' I said to her before slipping out after dinner. 'You gonna be okay when Moz leaves?'

She nodded but I picked up a little bit of apprehension in her eyes. 'Just set the alarm. I'll disable it when I come back.'

'Don't forget to turn it back on when you come up to bed' she said and that time, I definitely picked up on an edge in her voice.

I stared into her eyes, willing her to make some sort of connection with me. I managed to wrestle a small smile from her lips and I kissed her as Mozzie hovered in the background waiting for me to leave.

I stepped out into another mild spring evening and began to cross the street. Up ahead, I saw Jeff Mason and another guy slowly making their way up the Schneiders' driveway. They slowed down a little, waiting for me to catch up and I suddenly felt butterflies in pit of my stomach. It was like the first day of classes at a new school. A multitude of thoughts played simultaneously in my head.

What if I had nothing in common with this group of guys? What if they grilled me on what I did for a living before Hope was born? What if one of them had somehow seen my picture on the FBI website or alongside one of several articles posted there about my CI-handler relationship with Special Agent Peter Burke? What if one of them was a correctional officer working out of Sing-Sing and he recognized me the moment I stepped into the house? What if they were a bunch of macho shit heads who thought it was emasculating for a man to be a stay-at-home parent?

I snapped out of it when Jeff called my name.

'Hey Neal. This is Paul Nicholson, he lives next door to my place.'

'Paul' I said, putting out my hand.

The guy smiled. He was definitely not a correctional officer. From the paunch he sported and his poor posture, he most assuredly had a desk job somewhere.

'Nice to meet you' the man said as all three of us arrived on the front porch of the Schneider residence.

The front door was already open and a pleasant looking woman stood there waiting to welcome us. She was blonde, tiny - barely five feet tall but she had disproportionately large breasts and I forced myself to keep from staring.

'Hey guys' she called out. 'Come on in.'

One quick glance at Jeff and Paul told me that I wasn't the only one who was having trouble keeping my gaze above her neckline. It wasn't that any of us were leering lustily, it was more of a look of disbelief that she didn't tip over as she stood there holding the door open for us. She didn't react to our staring one bit. Perhaps she was used to people being startled by how well endowed she was. She stepped aside to let us in and as I passed her in the narrow opening, I involuntarily brushed my arm up against her ample bosom, having had no way of slipping by her without the unfortunate collision.

'Sorry' I mumbled, embarrassed. 'I'm Neal Caffrey. My wife and daughter and I just moved in over at 4788' I said, forcing myself to look straight into her eyes. They were pretty, blue and clear, and I willed myself to keep my gaze from wandering south of her neck.

'Ah, the old Morrison place' she said, just as Jeff had said the night before. 'I'm Rosie Schneider, welcome to the neighbourhood.'

I nodded and followed the guys in just as a discreet knock was heard coming from the door behind me. She turned to let a couple of other men in just as a huge specimen of a guy stepped out of the back of the house. He was a large beefy fellow, at least six-foot-five with giant pecs and a neck the size of a large watermelon. I knew for certain that if he wasn't a wrestler, he'd certainly been one at some point in his life. I had a fleeting unbidden image of Mr. and Mrs. Schneider doing the nasty, wondering how that would work. It was like King Kong making out with Snooki from Jersey Shore. I shook my head, forcing myself to snap out of it.

I realized that nerves were at play here. I reached out to shake the man's hand, feeling the crush of his mammoth grasp squeezing my comparatively delicate digits. I forced myself to keep from moaning in pain and followed Jeff and Paul inside.

'Go on down to my man cave' Garth Schneider said, pointing the way.

There was no doubt about it. I was totally out of my comfort zone. I followed Jeff down the steps to the testosterone cavern. It was a veritable caricature of a man cave: a pool table, reclining leather chairs surrounding a much too large screen, a dart board and poker table and a calendar of playmates proudly hanging from behind the wet bar which had every single imaginable brand of scotch on display. I half expected some exotic dancers to step out from behind the bar - completing the image.

I recalled Jeff's comment about Garth's competitive streak. I could certainly see it now.

Men continued to arrive one by one until there were a dozen or so of us wandering around with drinks in our hands, pretending to be comfortable with the situation. The television was already blaring as the line-ups for the basketball game were being called out. I wasn't sure how we were going to have a coherent conversation with all the hoopla going on. When Garth called out to his wife to bring down the food she'd ostensibly slaved over all day, she dutifully appeared and he gave her a swat across the behind that would never qualify as a love pat.

I glanced over at Jeff and he raised his eyebrows in disapproval. I tried to imagine the slap across the face I would be on the receiving end of if I ever treated Sara with such disrespect.

In that moment, I drew two important conclusions.

You just can't buy class.

And Jeff Mason would likely be an ally for life.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The gentle beep of the alarm took me by surprise when I walked into the house at around 11:15. I deactivated it by using the code I'd programmed earlier in the day. It obeyed, suddenly silenced. The house was eerily quiet, no shout out from upstairs from my wife as I'd come to expect whenever she heard the front door open. It was a little early for her to be in bed but at this time of the month, it wasn't unusual for her to need a little extra sleep.

I kicked off my shoes, leaving them by the front door and began walking decisively towards the kitchen, intent on getting a glass of milk to counteract the effect of the three beers I'd thrown back during the evening of fun and games with my new man friends.

I slid my sock clad foot against the hardwood floor to keep from making any noise and immediately collided with Sara's humungous handbag, sitting right in my path by the side of the staircase.

'SHIT!' I said under my breath as pain flared in my left foot.

'Damn it woman!' I added, followed by a litany of expletives. I began to hop around on one foot and gave her damn bag a second intentional and rather enthusiastic kick with my injured foot only further adding to the pain. I watched in horror as the contents of the purse exploded, rolling out onto the floor in all directions.

I must have asked her two dozen times NOT to leave her bag right at the foot of the stairs. First off, one of us might be coming down the stairs with Hope in our arms or carrying down the laundry basket and not see the blasted thing or as in this case, not have the proper lighting to spot something that had no damn business being there in the first place.

I kept cursing quietly which was nowhere near as satisfying as it might have been if I'd been able to let loose. Now, not only was I pissed off about having stubbed my toe, I had to scoop up the profusion of junk that had exploded from my wife's handbag/tote bag/suitcase/trunk. I got down on all fours and started collecting the sundry items which had begun to wander off aimlessly towards the living room, the powder room and the kitchen, making a variety of sounds ranging from loud pings to soft thuds.

I got to work, grabbing for things as they slipped from my grasp and rolled further away. Amongst the myriad of stuff, I counted at least a half-dozen lipsticks, three hairbrushes, a large makeup bag, her pocketbook, her daybook (Sara was old school that way), a small mirror, a couple of hefty reports with the SB logo on top, and countless crumpled up store receipts, probably dating back a couple of years.

I picked up her empty cellphone case and threw it back in her bag and crawled over to pick up the loose change which had rolled all the way under the couch in the living room. My baby toe throbbed as I dragged it against the hardwood floor and I grumbled, reaching for a handful of wrapped mints (which Sara collected every time she left a restaurant but never actually consumed - _'you never know… someone might get a cough and need a hard candy'_). I continued scooping things up with both hands, reflecting that it was no mystery my wife had such amazingly sculpted biceps.

A bottle of hand lotion had spurted some of its contents on the floor and I let out a couple of fuckin' fucks over that. I pulled a tissue from one of the three already open individual packs lying there and cleaned up the small mess (can you maybe finish one of the packs before you start the other two?) I glanced up towards the staircase giving Sara the evil eye she could not see - still marginally satisfactory.

A small tube caught my eye and I squinted in order to read the label in the glow of the porch light. 'What the hell?' I mumbled, thinking it might be sunscreen. The label read 'pepper spray'. Well, what do you know? I was glad to see that despite having poopooed my suggestion to always have some on hand when she went on a recovery, she'd actually heeded my advice.

I found four pair of sunglasses. That's right. Four. One pair was shattered although it was unclear if they'd been a casualty of the collision with my foot or had been in a state of disrepair before they'd tumbled out of her purse - or perhaps more accurately had been shot out like a cannonball, landing halfway to the kitchen.

There was some dental floss, plenty of dental floss (Sara was practically neurotic about having clean teeth - except of course, when she was wolfing down Oreos obsessively). I found a couple of condoms and frowned - there was a conversation starter right there. There was some hand sanitizer, a lone earring, a set of keys (from work no doubt), both a nail clipper and a nail file, the buckskin leather cardholder I'd given her for Christmas and enough tampons to start her own drugstore.

I let out an audible groan as I noticed a half eaten candy bar - and not one of the ones I'd picked up for her the night before either. Seemed that my wife had a secret stash somewhere. I set the candy bar aside, intent on throwing it out before it melted directly inside her prized leather bag, ruining its lining beyond repair. Some pens had rolled away, all SB swag. I would bet my bottom dollar that not a single one of them worked.

I glanced around to see if I'd missed anything and spotted a pill bottle which had rolled all the way over to the door of the powder room. I recognized it as the meds she took daily to regulate her thyroid.

'Great Sara!' I mumbled, my quiet voice dripping with sarcasm. 'Leave pills around where our curious one-year-old can find them.'

Confident that I'd managed to pick everything up, I got back on my feet and took a few tentative steps before hitting something hard and unyielding with the sole of my foot.

'Jeeezzzus!' I said, a little louder than I'd meant.

I looked down to find one of Hope's plastic barrettes, the one with the butterflies I'd been searching high and low for just the other day.

The last thing I picked up turned out to be the icing on the cake and I held it in my hand, feeling its hefty weight. It got me going again and I let out a frustrated huff and tucked the item in my pant pocket before picking up the bulging purse and placing it by the garage door out of harms way.

Why couldn't _she _learn to do that?

I was halfway to the kitchen when I heard Sara's voice coming from upstairs.

'Neal? Is that you?'

WCWCWC

'Be right up' I mumbled back, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice.

I needed a few minutes to chill if I wanted to avoid another argument. I heard footsteps coming down the stairs and kept my back to my wife, taking a few cleansing breaths before turning to face her.

'Neal, what's going on? I could hear you grumbling all the way upstairs.'

I took a few steps towards her, exaggerating my limp in order to capture her attention. I winced and moaned for effect.

Sara's face grew serious. 'What's the matter? Did you hurt yourself?' she asked, suddenly solicitous.

'I tripped over your… bag' I said with a straight face, refraining from blurting out the litany of colourful adjectives I would have liked to add.

'Oh' she replied, swallowing.

I exhaled and fought to keep the anger out of my voice. 'Babe, how many times have I asked you not to leave your bag right in the middle of the place?' I asked earnestly.

I limped over to the table and settled in, taking a sip of milk. I tried my best to appear innocent, virtuous even, after all, I _was_ the injured party.

'Let me look at — ' she began as she leaned to have a look at my foot.

I pulled away. 'It's fine' I grumbled.

'Let me see' she coaxed, her voice as sweet as honey.

I pouted and put out my foot. She gingerly removed my sock, revealing what I was relieved to see was a swollen baby toe, angry red.

Vindicated.

'Awww sweetie' she said, rushing to the fridge to get some ice.

She took the chair kitty corner to mine and tapped her thighs lightly, inviting me to put my foot up onto her lap. She wrapped the ice in a cloth before applying it directly to my… injury.

The pain was annoying more than anything else but I exhaled loudly and flinched for maximum effect. Guilt was a powerful motivator and if I could break her of the annoying habit of leaving her purse by the stairs, my little over the top act would be well worth it.

'Owww!' I complained.

She leaned down and kissed my toe and I felt a pang of guilt of my own for playing it up.

'It's fine' I said with a smile.

I still had a few issues I wanted to raise and I didn't want to get off track. I pulled out her Glock's magazine from my back pocket and slammed it down on the table dramatically.

'What?' she said petulantly.

I just stared at her and emptied the magazine clip on the table between us. The ammunition made a loud, resonating sound as it hit the tabletop, not unlike an unexpected rain shower on a tin roof.

'Sara, we had a deal.'

'Yeah, that I not bring home my gun' she replied defiantly.

Technically, she had a point but I wasn't about to let her get away with it.

'What? Because you're okay with Hope grabbing bullets out of your purse?'

'No….'

'Well, you're the one who leaves your purse where she can get to it. And what about your meds?'

'Meds?'

'You have your thyroid medication in there.'

She nodded as if she was suddenly remembering all that was contained in her purse.

'Are you really okay with finding our one-year-old sitting on the floor playing with ammunition?'

'No… but —'

'But what?'

'Neal, I just keep an extra clip in there in case something happens and I need to reload in a hurry.'

I just sighed. At this point, I got the sense that indignant silence might have more of the desired effect than vocal protestations.

'Okay, okay. I'll admit it's probably not a good idea to have it where Hope can get to it' she admitted reluctantly. 'I promise I'll… be more careful about where I leave my purse.'

I shook my head in silence, showing my disappointment.

'Look Neal. The last time we talked about this… when we were still living at June's, you convinced me not to ask any questions and to take things at face value. I didn't push it and I started keeping my gun locked up at work just like you asked. I've respected your wishes all this time but… whatever it is that's made you so…. why can't you just tell me about it?'

'Don't make this about me, Sara' I said, feeling the moral high ground start to slip out from under me.

Up until now, I'd managed to avoid spilling my guts about what was undeniably one of the most horrific experiences of my life. I needed her to stop asking questions and just carry on as we always had.

'Look, Sara…I've asked you to… just give me a pass on this. I… I've never asked for anything like this before.'

'I know that… but Neal, I'm your wife. Honey, please… just help me understand what this is all about.'

I was back on my feet, all but forgetting about my little mishap. I'd put the long-ago incident behind me after years of agonizing about it and I had no interest in reliving it. Just the thought of it made the bile rise in my throat.

'What does it matter if I talk about it or not? It's not going to change anything. Please Sara, don't push me on this.' I said, standing there staring down at my feet. I had one sock on and the other one off and I brought my naked foot to rest on my sock and squirmed, feeling like a little kid.

'How did it go with Mozzie?' I asked, doing a full 180 and hoping it would stick.

Sara stood, looking defeated. She seemed to accept that the subject was closed. At least for the time being.

Her voice grew soft. 'All right Neal, I'll start keeping my ammunition locked up at the office.'

I nodded, grateful.

'And Mozzie came through with some intel for me' she added.

'That's good' I said.

My toe started throbbing again and her face softened as I winced. For real this time.

She brought her arm to rest around my back and pointed me in the direction of the front of the house.

'How was your meeting?' she asked as we took a few tentative steps towards the staircase.

'Testosterone fuelled' I replied wryly.

'Oh, is he that big guy whose wife has boobs the size of milk jugs?'

I chuckled, putting my arm around her. 'So it's not just me then?'

She pumped her eyebrows and her eyes bulged out in response.

'So what happened with Bosch Jr. today?' I asked as we slowed the pace. We stopped by the front door and I punched in the alarm code, once more hearing the reassuring beep.

'Don't ask' she replied. 'Looks like I'm stuck with the guy for the foreseeable future.'

'Oh no…'

We began our ascent, Sara helping me navigate the staircase.

'You remember I'm going over to Clinton's place tomorrow night for poker, right?'

'Right. Out two nights in a row' she said with a playful smile. 'I'm going to have to tighten that noose around your neck a little tighter.'

I chuckled.

'Good thing you don't have to play with your feet, huh Caffrey?' she added with a twinkle in her eye.

I'd already forgiven her for the purse thing. How could I not? I looked into her eyes, seeing the mischief there. God, I loved this woman. She was clever and funny and sexy and some days I couldn't believe she was my wife.

I was still in denial about the events that had taken place all those years ago, in a place far, far away. In that moment, I realized that sooner or later, I would need to open up to her about what had happened.

Later, I decided.

WCWCWC

It was a weird thing about dreams. You'd wake up and try desperately to hold onto the last vestiges of what you'd been dreaming about but within seconds, the fragile connection was broken and the fleeting memories disappeared from your psyche in a puff of smoke. Sometimes, I would get a flash of my most recent dream as I showered. The sensation of the hot water against my skin would relax me and prod my subconscious into giving me a glimpse into what had occupied my mind while I slept.

On Friday morning, it was something else altogether that nudged my subconscious and helped me make that delicate connection.

I sat in the sandbox at our local park with Hope settled in between my legs. We worked together to fill her bucket and flipped it over, adding another castle to our little collection of structures. Hope turned to look at me mischievously - just as her mom had done the night before - and she gave the newly built construction a decisive tap, laughing heartily as it crumbled to the ground right before our eyes.

'Why you little monkey!' I said, tickling her and delighting in her spontaneous laugh.

Across from us, sat a little red haired boy, raking the sand around him and filling his pail with a look of sheer concentration. I could see Hope observing his actions and attempting to imitate him. He was a little older than she was, closer to two and he worked methodically with a steady hand, packing the sand by tapping it in the pail with his shovel.

Hope was still a little young for socializing - she was more into parallel play as my studies of Mildred Parten's works had taught me. It was that stage where kids played alongside each other but didn't yet feel the need to interact with one another. I loved reading about child development, observing my daughter's growth and development and revelling in the realization that our little girl was developing normally, just as she should.

I studied the little guy and I got a brief flash of the dream I'd had the night before. I hadn't thought much about Tim Koslawski in a while, except for his part in the recent memories I'd been unsuccessfully attempting to suppress.

Timmy and I had been best buddies all through elementary school. I was the yin to his yang, the straight man to his gags and misdeeds, the quiet dark-haired boy to his zany red-headed craziness.

By the time we'd met in kindergarten, things were quickly deteriorating at home and I began to spend an awful lot of time over at Koslawskis' place.

Tim's dad wasn't around all that much. He was a cop just like my father had been. But that was where the similarities ended. Tims' dad was a good cop, an honest cop. Of course, back then I wouldn't know for another ten years or so what had brought on my dad's sudden disappearance from our lives. Mom never wanted to talk about it. It was Ellen who told me the whole sordid tale right before I left home at the age of eighteen.

To a struggling little boy like me, the Koslawskis seemed like the perfect family. Mrs. Koslawski was sweet and kind and pretty in a Mrs. Cleaver kind of way. She would regularly invite me to stay for dinner after school and occasionally on weekends, she would send Timmy over to invite me for a sleepover. In hindsight, I wonder if she knew what I was trying so desperately to conceal from everyone back then — that my home life was hell, that my mom was simply unable to give me what I craved: a safe and loving home.

Compared to the grim silence in our tiny apartment, the Koslawski home was full of life. Oh, don't get me wrong. They weren't well off by any means but when you stepped through the door, there was an aura of kindness and love I'd never experienced before. The place always smelled like a bakery and there was usually some stew or sauce on the stove simmering away. Mrs. Koslawski would check for my reaction and if she saw my eyes bulge out (especially on spaghetti night - which was Thursdays) she would say something like: _'Oh dear! I think I made too much of this sauce, would you like to stay for dinner Danny?'_

I didn't really believe her but I was not about to refuse such a kind offer. If I was lucky, dinner at home would be a couple of spoonfuls of peanut butter on stale bread. I'd begun to notice that she always served herself last - if she ate at all - and that her portion was always smaller than the one she'd set aside for her husband or the one she served us kids. She would make something she'd call 'poor man's pudding' a white cake with brown sugar syrup that would have me drooling. On a couple of occasions, she'd even sent a piece home for Mom - but I have to confess I usually hid it and had it myself.

Adding to the bustling atmosphere of the Koslawski home was Tim's adorable little sister Anna. She was just a wee thing with huge brown eyes peeking out from her dark bangs. She was as cute as a button but Tim didn't quite see it that way.

He was an outgoing eight-year-old - much more rambunctious than I would ever be. He was the clown in Mrs. Dean's third grade class, always the centre of attention, which was exactly how he liked things. Baby Anna - as her mom called her - was the absolute antithesis of her older brother. Whereas he was mischievous, always getting into trouble, she was all sweetness and light.

I would have killed to have a baby brother or sister but Tim used to complain about Anna all the time. Her sweet disposition meant that people fawned over her and he found it annoying to have to share the spotlight with a pesky toddler.

I, on the other hand, used to watch her carefully as we ate at the small kitchen table in the Koslawski house. She would study her food and delicately pick up a small piece with her teeny tiny fingers, bring the food daintily to her lips and taste carefully before deciding if she liked something or not.

I thought she was so cute and I didn't mind it one bit when she would follow us into the living room and watch us play with Tim's hot wheels collection or the train set his dad has gotten him for his birthday. Tim would call out to his mom that Anna was bothering us despite the fact she would just sit and watch, pointing and smiling as if she didn't have a care in the world. Looking back, I guess she and I had a connection, one that she didn't even have with her brother.

She would giggle and waddle over and sit down next to me, putting out her hands to play patty cake or I would hand her one of the hot wheels which would inevitably end up in her mouth. Tim would complain and I'd act nonchalant and send her on her way, watching her toddle away, her soft giggling echoing in my ears.

'Poppa!'

Hope's voice startled me as she slammed her fist in our latest creation and started clapping her hands with glee.

'What did you do my little sweet pea?' I cried out, tickling her until she became fluid in my arms. 'Did you just break daddy's castle again?'

She laughed in that heartfelt, carefree way, secure in my arms. I was suddenly overcome by the sheer happiness I could see in her eyes and the realization that I played a part in making her feel so safe and secure. I had a fleeting thought of my mom, passed out on the couch in our shitty apartment in St-Louis… I shook off the nostalgia and looked back up at the little red-haired boy.

He glanced up, curious and smiled as he watched me tickle Hope, perhaps in need of a cuddle himself.

'Kyle!' came the voice of an angry sounding young woman sitting on a nearby bench. She sat there looking rather uninterested, a cigarette in one hand and her cell phone in the other. I smiled back at him, wondering if that was the only smile he'd be getting today.

I tried in vain to suppress the sudden flood of memories from my childhood. But I had a feeling, those ghosts from my past would never completely fade away.

WCWCWC

'So, Uncle Win told me the good news' Mitchell Dunlop announced as he stormed into Sara Ellis' office.

She glanced up at him and brought a finger to her lips, pointing to the phone against her ear. He walked in all the same and plopped himself down on the chair across from her desk. He threw a couple of magazines down and leaned back, putting his hands behind his head and stretching his legs out in front of him as if he owned the place.

Sara turned away from him, facing the window as she tried to concentrate on the conversation she was having.

'I'm still hopeful some of the leads I've gotten will pan out' she said into the phone. 'Of course, you'll be the first to know.'

She hung up and turned to stare at her protégé, her gaze stern, her arms crossed.

'Mitch, I was on the phone' she said, visibly annoyed. 'That was Mrs. Van Dyke — in case you're interested. I'm still doing damage control after that little stunt you pulled with my informant the other day.'

He shrugged and pointed to a picture in one of the magazines he'd brought in.

'I heard you're going to help me secure my own personal firearm' he said, eyes excited. 'I wanted to show you what I was interested in.'

Sara slammed the magazine shut and glared at him. 'Sorry to disappoint you there, Keemosabe, but the company issues the same identical firearm to all its investigators.'

'But —'

'But nothing!' she said, getting to her feet.

She walked around her desk and stopped for a moment as she came across his long legs blocking her way. She gave him a death stare and he sat up straight, moving his legs out of the way and watching as she perched herself on the edge of her desk, inches from his face.

She leaned in and let her voice drop to a mere whisper.

'Listen here Mitchell. You might be able to pull the wool over your uncle's eyes but that shit isn't going to work with me. From now on, I want you to rein it in. Keep your mouth shut unless I speak to you and keep your dick in your pants when you're talking to the women around here.'

He stared back in disbelief, his mouth hanging open.

'Now, if it was strictly up to me, I'd be supplying you with a water pistol so shut the fuck up and take what's given to you. I'm signing you up for our 'Safety with firearms' seminar and once you've successfully completed the course, I will start the paperwork. Until then, I don't want to hear a goddamn word about it. Capiche?'

'But Uncle Win —'

Sara just kept glaring at him and he shut up suddenly. She was one badass, scary bitch.

'I don't give a rat's ass what your precious uncle Win might have said to you so listen up. I'm in charge of your sorry ass and if you don't want to go crawling back to your mummy with your tail between your legs, you're going to start doing things my way from now on.'

The self-satisfaction in his eyes had morphed into a look of terror. Sara stood and returned to her desk, grabbing a large pile of files.

'Now, these are my personal notes from the cases I've worked over the past five months. I want them all typed out and filed appropriately in these case files.'

'But I don't type…' he said his voice choked.

'Again, you seem to have mistaken me for someone who gives a damn.'

His cheeks grew red and she could see from the look in his eyes that she'd finally found his Achilles heel: for all his bluster, the guy was scared shitless of strong women.

'Finish that up and then we'll see about letting you back in on the Van Dyke case.'

He stood and nodded, taking the files from her. She thought she noticed a slight tremor in his hands. She turned away dismissively and returned to sit at her desk.

'Oh, and Mitch. Close the door on your way out.'

WCWCWC

The doorbell ringing in the middle of a weekday afternoon was an anomaly in our quiet little neighbourhood. We didn't get an awful lot of encyclopedia peddlers or Hoover salesmen going door to door. I put down my paintbrush and made my way to the window so I could see out front who was on our doorstep.

I didn't even need to crane my neck to get a better look. I immediately noticed Peter's car parked in our driveway and let out a sigh.

I took a moment to wipe off my brush and ran down before Peter's insistent knocking woke Hope from her nap.

'Hey! Would you cool it' I said, rather curtly as I opened the door.

My anger and disappointment at the little stunt Peter had pulled on me had been building for the past twenty-four hours and the sight of him was bringing it all back.

He seemed oblivious and stepped in, peeking around me with expectant eyes.

'Where is she?' he asked excitedly. 'Where's my little buttercup?'

I noticed he was carrying a couple of large shopping bags - no great surprise. Peter was notorious for spoiling his goddaughter with expensive toys and gifts. I recognized the colourful bag from Piccolini, the high end children's boutique in Soho. Before Hope was born and I'd divested myself of my ill-gotten loot, I'd spent countless hours in there, spending obscene amounts of money on high end baby clothes. But clothes had never been Peter's thing and I was surprised to see him holding the colourful bag — as foreign as it might be to bump into him in a tux at a gala at the Met.

I tried to focus on Peter's face. 'She's asleep' I said, deadpan.

He puckered his lips together and cocked his eyebrows as if to apologize but I could tell he wasn't apologizing at all and my anger flared.

'Peter, what are you doing here in the middle of the afternoon?' I asked doing my best to sound annoyed.

The truth was it was nice to have adult company for a change. But I had some unfinished business with my ex-handler and I wasn't about to let him try to charm me before I got the chance to give him a giant piece of my mind.

Again, he seemed totally oblivious to my mood and marched right into the kitchen, depositing his purchases on the table with a look of self-satisfaction.

'Wait until you see what I picked up for my little pumpkin' he announced proudly.

His hand was already inside the clothing store bag, feeling around in there. He pulled out something wrapped in bright red tissue paper followed by a second item in turquoise blue.

I was doing my best to remain appropriately annoyed but I was growing curious. What had a forty-something straight-laced FBI agent like Peter Burke been doing in a trendy kids' boutique while he should have been at his desk solving crimes?

'This little dress…' he began as he carefully unwrapped the first item, '…is from their little darlin' collection.'

Had he really just said 'little darlin' collection'?

'All right Peter, you're freaking me out here. What the hell is going on with you?'

He looked at me with a self-satisfied grin as if my question was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard.

'I picked something I thought would go best with her colouring' he said, sounding like something from a make-over reality show.'

'_You_ picked?' I said, my voice deliberate. 'You personally went into this boutique with all the pregnant ladies and the sixty-year old first time fathers and actually picked this out yourself?'

'Of course!' he said as he removed the tissue paper.

Peter didn't even shop for his own underwear let alone truck it down to a trendy neighbourhood in Manhattan to peruse items in size 12-18 months. As a matter of fact, I was pretty sure he hadn't stepped into a men's clothing store in about ten years. The sudden image of him looking through racks of dainty little girl clothing would have had me in stitches if I wasn't so pissed off at him.

He pulled out a gorgeous little summer dress in bright yellow with tiny white polka dots all over the bodice. Hope was going to look amazing in that. I caught a glimpse of the price tag as he held it up: a hundred and twenty-five bucks.

A hundred and twenty-five bucks! This from the guy who balked at paying more than a dollar twenty-five for a cup of coffee at Starbucks.

'Wow!' I couldn't help but say. 'That's… gorgeous!'

I ran my hand against the soft material. 'Peter, you've got to stop spoiling her like this.'

He was already on to his second purchase, ripping off the tissue paper to reveal the cutest little pink t-shirt I'd ever seen. It was covered in hearts and flowers and in the middle was a large heart with the words 'Uncle Peter's Little Angel.'

'This one I had to custom order' he said with pride - again, words I never expected to hear from my best friend. 'It cost a little more but I really think it was worth it.'

Again, I could see the price tag dangling from the tiny sleeve - a seventy-five dollar t-shirt that might fit her for a few weeks - _if_ we were lucky.

It was getting harder and harder to stay mad at him but I persevered, reminding myself that the man for whom I had the utmost respect had treated me like an absolute idiot.

Me! An idiot!

He finally seemed to clue in that my reactions were a little subdued and he frowned at me. 'What the hell's wrong with you anyway? I thought for sure you'd like this stuff.'

I reached for the FBI case file that was still lying on the kitchen table and threw it down on top of his purchases with a flourish. His face grew pale. Mine grew dark and angry.

'What the hell do you think you're doing Peter?'

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

'Well?' I said. My eyes were shooting daggers at Peter.

I could tell by the look in his eyes that he hadn't expected me to throw this at him, not when we'd been discussing the little darlin' collection a moment before.

Or perhaps he really _did_ think I was an idiot.

Either way, I needed answers as to why he'd purposefully slipped me a case, claiming to need my help when in fact, the case was solved, the perp had been apprehended and already been indicted for bank fraud.

I could hear gurgling sounds coming from the baby monitor; Hope was moving around up in her crib.

'The next time you try to pull a fast one on me, at least give me _some_ credit and have the presence of mind to remove the final report from the file.'

I hadn't realized just how angry I was until the words started to spill out. Peter picked up the file and flipped to the last page and his face grew paler still. He shook his head in dismay and tried to look up at me but his eyes didn't quite meet mine.

'I'm sorry…' he mumbled.

'Why? Why would you do such a thing?' I repeated. I could feel my blood boiling. 'Is this some kind of sick joke at my expense?'

'Poppa! Poppa!' came Hope's voice from the monitor nearby.

I kept staring at Peter, doing my best to ignore her pleas. I saw him make a move as if he was getting ready to run upstairs and get her.

'Don't!' I shouted.

'POPPA!' Hope's voice grew more insistent - or maybe she knew her beloved uncle Peter was in the building.

I pointed my finger at him and poked it in his face a few times, outrage in my voice.

'We are _not _done discussing this' I said, making it sound like a threat.

By the time I came back down with Hope in my arms, Peter was sitting there looking through the file. He'd put away the bag of clothes as well as the other two shopping bags which, I assumed, contained more goodies for his goddaughter.

Hope let out a loud squeal at the sight of him sitting there and she wriggled out of my arms, eager to run to him. I made sure she was steady on her feet before letting go and watched her toddle over to him with shrieks of joy. He smiled, a muted smile, keenly aware just how angry I was. He scooped her up in his arms and settled her on his lap.

She looked up, eyes shining expectantly. ''andy?' she asked with a frown.

Peter brought his lips to rest on her forehead and spoke quietly. 'No sweetheart, Uncle Peter doesn't have any candy for you today.'

She pouted and before the situation deteriorated into tears, I headed for the cupboard, reaching in for the box of Arrowroot. I bridged the gap between myself and Peter and handed Hope a cookie before walking over to the fridge and grabbing the jug of apple juice - a commodity which we consumed in industrial quantities these days. I filled her sippy cup and placed it on the table in front of her.

'Neal, it's not what you think…' Peter said, searching for my eyes.

'Oh yeah? And what might that be? That you decided that I'm some bored stay-at-home dad whose life consists of folding laundry and baking cookies? '_His mind is turning to mush_' I continued, letting my voice deepen in an attempt to imitate his. _'He won't notice we've handed him both the problem and the solution… just some busy work for poor old Neal'.'_

Peter didn't reply and looked down at the table, letting his fingers linger against the smooth surface.

I was so angry I wasn't thinking straight. I further surprised myself when I next spoke. 'Is this the FBI equivalent of a pity fuck?' I asked, my voice much too loud.

'No' he murmured. 'Of course not. I just thought maybe you'd be able to give us fresh eyes on this, pick up on some stuff we might have missed.'

'Bullshit!' I exclaimed.

Hope looked up at me, startled. She wasn't used to seeing me get angry - not at her anyway. She moaned softly and Peter ran his hand through her hair, instantly calming her. He brought her cup of juice closer and she picked it up with her stubby little fingers and took a sip.

There was something else in Peter's eyes. I could tell. Something he wasn't telling me.

'It's bad enough you'd think I wouldn't notice, don't insult my intelligence by lying about it' I blurted out.

'I… it's just that you've been coming down to the office a lot lately and…'

I cut him off. 'And what? You thought you'd throw me a bone? Give me something to occupy my mind and… what? I'd get down on my knees and thank you, that I'd be grateful to be treated like an absolute idiot?'

I'd started pacing behind the kitchen island and I could see Hope watching me, her eyes wide and curious. She'd begun to fuss a little on Peter's lap.

'What'd you do? Forget to take out the final pages of the report before you handed it to me?'

I could see from the look on his face that that was exactly what had happened. He let out a long slow breath but said nothing.

I was hopping mad, sure. But it was more than that.

I felt betrayed.

Peter and I had had dozens of arguments over the years and we didn't always see eye to eye. As a matter of fact, we rarely did. He came from a place of reasoning, of logic, guided by his firm belief that justice always prevailed whereas I had always been more instinctive, trusting my intuition, my impulses. But throughout my years working with him, he'd never once made me feel less than his equal. We worked well together, opposite sides of the same coin: his persistence and dogged approach to crime-solving, my ability to think and act outside the box. Reason versus intuition. Together we made an unbeatable team, meeting somewhere in the middle. It was a marriage made in heaven - or so he'd said on more than one occasion.

Before Hope was born, Peter had even gone to bat for me when the team had received an award of excellence at the FBI's annual commendation dinner. The Bureau had refused to let me attend but he'd fought tooth and nail for me to get the recognition he felt I deserved.

Why now, had he done something that demeaned me, humiliated me?

'I don't get it Peter. Why would you do such a thing?'

Hope's face brightened, her eyes staring over my shoulder at something across the room.

'Momma!' she called out just as I heard a soft noise behind me. I turned to find Sara standing there. I hadn't even heard the door open. God only knows how long she'd been listening. Her face was about as pale and milky as Peter's.

'Neal stop it' she said, taking a step forward. 'This isn't Peter's fault. It's mine.'

WCWCWC

Peter felt a little out of place, pushing a stroller down the street in his Brooks Brothers suit but he'd suggested taking Hope to the park to give Neal and Sara a chance to talk things out. He was relieved Sara had come home when she had. If pushed, he would have willingly covered for her but this was an issue between the two of them and they needed to resolve it within the confines of their marriage.

At first, Sara had suggested the crazy scheme in jest but she'd come back a second time, confiding in Peter how worried she was about Neal, that he might be getting bored being home with Hope day in, day out. Peter had conceded that Neal looked a little restless at times, that he visited the office often and that he asked a lot of questions about the cases the team was working on.

Bottom line though, he should have known better than to try to outwit a fox like Neal. The whole thing hadn't sat right with him from the start and he cursed himself for not having stood up to Sara, encouraged her to talk to Neal instead. Peter knew how much Neal prided himself on his smarts and his instincts. Thinking Peter didn't respect him would be seen as a betrayal for a man like Neal Caffrey, something their friendship might never recover from. This, at a time when they were redefining the rules of their relationship.

It had seemed innocent enough. What harm could it do to try to incentivize Neal to do some work for the Bureau? Peter had been trying to lure him back ever since he'd cut him loose months earlier. Neal had been an exceptional CI, able to see things from the criminal's point of view and yet working from a basic sense of decency unlike so many of the crooks the Bureau came across. To be honest, Peter would have been thrilled to have his old partner back — not that it was his decision to make.

Hope gurgled and he leaned down to check on her. She smiled at him, perfectly content to be chauffeured around by her uncle Peter up and down the neighbourhood streets.

A young woman with two children came across their path and Peter smiled at her.

'Hi' he called out to the kids.

She gave him a worried look and grabbed the kids' hands, pulling them into her and taking a wide berth around Peter and Hope.

Did he look like some kind of pervert? You might not expect an older guy dressed this way to be pushing a baby in a stroller at dinnertime on a late Friday afternoon. Once their paths had crossed, he felt her eyes boring into the back of his head.

'What's the matter Mommy?' he heard one of the kids say.

'Nothing. Just keep walking.'

WCWCWC

'But why?' I could hear the sadness in my voice. The anger was gone.

Sara sat across from me and shrugged. 'Because I love you.'

I shook my head. 'Because you _love _me?' I repeated with skepticism.

'Neal, you are such an amazing father, but you've given up so much to be with me and Hope.'

'Sara, I've told you a dozen times, I haven't given up anything. I love our life. I love you, I love Hope.'

'I know that and I'm sure you mean it.'

'Of course I mean it' I said, reaching out to take her hand. 'Why would you even doubt that?'

'I don't… I don't doubt it. It's just that… sometimes I worry that you're in denial.'

I stared back, trying to follow her logic.

'Neal, both our lives have been completely turned upside down these last two years. Sometimes, all this domesticity… it's still a struggle for me and I know you feel that way too. So many changes in such a short time. Ever since you got back from Cape Verde, it's been one thing after another. We got back together, I got pregnant then I got hurt and moved into June's with you.'

I nodded, no doubt about it, Sara had perfect recall.

'And then Hope was born and we got married and your anklet came off —'

'Sara, Sara, I know' I said, interrupting her. 'I was there, remember?'

She smiled at my weak attempt at humour. 'Neal, you're a wonderful husband, an amazing dad but there are so many… so many different sides to you. I worry that you'll get bored staying at home.'

'So you decided to humiliate me by going behind my back and asking Peter to hand me a fake case to solve?'

'No… that's not it at all. I thought you'd have a look at the case file, get excited about it… maybe you'd catch the bug and want to work on a case or two with Peter, keep your mind engaged.'

I could feel my anger flaring. 'Sara, we agreed, we said we wanted one of us to be home with Hope.'

'I know…' she said, her voice quiet. She stood, walked over to the kitchen counter and grabbed a bottle of red from a small wine rack we kept there. She pulled two glasses out of the cupboard and sat down across from me, her eyes looking down.

'Neal, I feel bad that I got to go back to work and… you didn't' she said, pretending to fiddle with the bottle.

'But —'

She put her hand up. 'Let me finish. Please' she said as if she needed to get something off her chest before she lost her nerve.

I settled back in my chair and took the glass of wine she offered me.

'I know you said it was a no-brainer, that you should be the one to stay home for all kinds of reasons but sometimes I feel like I got the sweet end of the deal.'

'Maybe you did… from your perspective. But so did I' I said, taking a sip of my wine. 'Honey, I'm not sure what the next step is going to be for me. And sometimes, that's scary. I've never had a… conventional job. I don't know where I'll fit in in the grand scheme of things. Being home with Hope, it buys me some time. And besides, I'm loving every minute of it.'

She leaned forward to listen but I wasn't sure she was buying it.

'Have you ever heard me complain about it?' I asked, my voice gentle.

She shook her head. 'Of course not… but Neal, you get so… intense about Hope's safety and always being the perfect dad. I want to make sure you're doing what _you _want to do.'

I was trying really hard to see her point of view.

'Caffrey, you're a complicated man and that's what I love about you. You're funny and smart… so smart… and talented and impulsive and sexy. But part of who you are is your past… working cons, putting your brilliant mind to work to help Peter solve crimes. Those are all parts of who you are and I don't want you to lose your…edge.'

'My edge?' I scoffed. 'What are you saying Sara? Are you suggesting I bring Hope along in her stroller and go back to my old life running cons with Mozzie because he's got a couple of real doozies in the hopper right now…'

She rolled her eyes. 'Sara, I'm doing exactly what I want to do. I'll admit some days are a little tougher than others but I get to be here for our daughter every day. I get to watch her grow and change… I have time to paint. Sure, I have to run errands and cooks meals… so what? That's just part of the bargain. Do I want to do this for the rest of my life… no. But for now, it works for me, it works for you, it works for Hope.'

'But wouldn't you like to maybe work a few cases with Peter, keep your mind sharp?'

Ouch!

'Sorry, I didn't mean it like that.' I could sense emotion in her voice and I leaned forward and took her hand. I saw a tear slip onto her cheek.

'Babe….' I said as I moved over to sit next to her.

I brought my arm to rest around her shoulder and squeezed. 'I haven't been this happy in… fact is, I've _never_ been this happy. Sure, sometimes I miss my old life, I miss having adult conversations that don't require me repeating the same word a dozen times and some days I think I'll lose my mind if I have to listen to 'Mary had a little lamb' one more time but overall…'

'That's just it Neal. Maybe we can find a happy medium, find a responsible sitter and you could get out of the house a couple of times a week. Peter's been bugging you to do some paid consultant work for him ever since you left.'

I shook my head but she continued.

'I know, I know it's not what you want to do in the long run and that's not what I'm suggesting. But it would give you a bit of a challenge and you'd still be home with Hope most of the time.'

I continued shaking my head and felt her hand on my leg, squeezing.

'Why don't you at least think about it? You could pick and choose the cases you want to work on - no more boring mortgage fraud cases if that's what you want. You wouldn't be at Peter's beck and call anymore. You'd be your own man.'

She was smiling now, starting to relax again. 'Don't try to deny it Caffrey. I saw that twinkle in your eye when Peter asked you to have a look at that case.'

She was right of course but I wasn't sure I was ready to admit it. I sighed and pulled her in against me.

'You know you're damn lucky I love you so much' I murmured into her hair. 'Pulling a bone headed stunt like that…'

I pulled away and looked in her eyes. 'Just promise me the next time you think you know what I'm thinking or how I'm feeling, you'll talk to me before you do something stupid. I don't want any more secrets between us.'

Sara smiled and nodded.

It was true, I didn't want any more secrets between us but sharing my life with someone was still new and as much as I loved Sara, the thought of totally laying myself bare made me feel uneasy. There were things I'd done I wasn't terribly proud of and luckily, Sara knew most of them.

I couldn't help but feel a twinge of hypocrisy at the words I'd just spoken. For days now, she'd been asking me to open up about something from my past. Maybe it was time to put my money where my mouth was and tell her the truth.

WCWCWC

'Anyway, she got up right in the middle of the meal and started screaming at her new husband and then he got up and the next thing I knew she took her plate of pasta and dumped it on his head.'

Sara listened, eyes wide as Elizabeth went on. Apparently, she wasn't the only one who had issues to deal with at work.

'Tomato sauce?' Sara asked with a grimace.

Elizabeth nodded.

'Then what happened?'

'Then, all hell broke loose. The bride's brother got into it with the groom's cousin and the woman the groom had apparently been having the affair with started yelling at him, shouting that he was a lousy lay. Then the bride and the bimbo started fighting and the bride slugged her and this huge cat fight erupted. I tell you, I've never seen anything like it.'

'Wow' Sara said, taking a sip of her wine. 'I've heard about Italian weddings before but…'

'I'm telling you it turned into an out and out brawl. They ended up calling the police and five guys and the bride were carted off to jail. Her parents were livid.'

'Shortest marriage ever' Sara said, under her breath.

'You're not kidding. Luckily, I'd gotten paid up front.'

Sara nodded vacantly, her mind wandering.

'And then, the groom came up to me and told me he'd been wanting to leave his wife for me all along…'

'What?' Sara asked, clueing into what El had just said.

'What's the matter with you? You've been miles away all night.'

'It's just… stuff at work and Neal and I have been arguing for days now about this gun thing. I was hoping Peter might get him to open up.'

Elizabeth checked her watch. 'The poker game should be over by now. Maybe Peter will have a chance to talk to him on the way back.'

'Well, I think I've used up all my get out of jail cards with Neal… with this whole fake case I asked Peter to help me with.'

'Neal wasn't thrilled, huh?'

'That's an understatement. But he was pretty good in the end. He's going to think about us maybe getting a sitter so he can get out of the house more often.'

'I could always see about freeing up a day a week…' Elizabeth said, '…if you need a sitter.'

Sara smiled at her. 'That's sweet El but you and Peter have already done so much for us. We're going to have to leave Hope with someone other than the two of you at some point. And besides, it would do her good to socialize with kids her own age now that we're —'

She stopped abruptly and Elizabeth's eyes brightened.

'I told Neal I was ready' Sara said.

El squirmed in her chair and leaned forward. 'What did he say?'

'What do you think he said? He's thrilled.'

Elizabeth clapped her hands like a kid who'd been handed a lollipop. 'That's terrific! Hope's going to be a great big sister!'

'Whoa whoa there. I'm not pregnant yet.'

El wagged her eyebrows. 'Are you kidding? You got pregnant while you were on the pill and Neal was wearing a condom. I'm pretty sure he can get the job done if he walks within ten feet of you and winks in your direction.'

'First off, I'd just been on the pill for a couple of weeks and the condom was… defective.'

'Defective? That's not how you told it the first time.'

'It was an accident El! Neal didn't mean for it to rip. He had a… hangnail.'

El reached out to refill her class and chuckled. 'So you're telling me Hope is here because Neal forgot to clip his nails.'

'Some people would say there are no 'accidents' when it comes to these things' she added.

Sara rolled her eyes.

El was counting on her fingers and looked up, excited. 'So if you get pregnant this month, you'll have a February baby and Hope will be almost two.'

'Jeesh' Sara said, standing to reach for something in the fridge. 'I knew I shouldn't have said anything.'

She came up with some cheese and reached into the cupboard for a box of crackers while Elizabeth prattled on.

'I think two years is just perfect. My sister and I are two years apart.'

Sara's face grew dark and El picked up on it. 'Sorry, I… I wasn't thinking.'

Sara had been living without her beloved older sister in her life for over twenty years but it still hurt to know that she was out there somewhere. Was she safe? Was she happy? Had she married? Did she have children of her own? So many questions and so few answers.

'It's all right. I'm used to it.'

There was the muffled sound of voices and the front door of the Caffrey home flew open revealing both Peter and Neal, arguing good-naturedly.

'You're imagining things' Neal was saying as they stepped into the house.

'It's when you reached for your drink, right?' Peter replied. 'That's when you made the switch.'

They appeared in the doorway to the kitchen and the women looked up. Neal had that mischievous look on his face, the look he got when he'd pulled one over on Peter and Peter had that earnest look, like he was on the verge of cracking some big case.

Sara was relieved to see them looking as they always did: Peter's eyes bright and curious, Neal looking like the cat who swallowed the canary. She was grateful she hadn't irremediably damaged their relationship. Peter was her husband's best friend and she wouldn't be able to live with herself knowing she'd messed things up between them for good.

'Sounds like you've been up to your old tricks again Caffrey' she said, standing to place a peck on his cheek.

She watched as he slipped on that innocent face of his. 'Of course not. If Jones thinks I'm cheating, I'll never get another invite.'

'Aha!' Peter said. 'I _knew_ you were cheating.'

He watched Neal shake his head and reach for a piece of cheese on the table as a distraction - neither admitting or denying.

Sara and Elizabeth chuckled. It was nice to see those two getting back to normal. Sara in particular was relieved to see her husband looking so relaxed. Now, if only she could get at what was really bothering him.

WCWCWC

_The sound of the gunshot was so much louder than I'd ever imagined, so much more strident than those I'd heard on those cops and robbers shows on TV. It echoed in my ears long after her tiny body had hit the ground, long after Mr. Koslawski had come running into the room, long after the EMTs had come and gone, long after I'd made it back home and was safely in bed. _

_I lay there with the sound still ringing in my ears, the image of the little girl's shocked eyes seared into my brain. I kept replaying the scene over and over again in slow motion, the giggles, the glance in the direction of the door, the deafening sound of the gunshot, the way her body had crumpled, her tiny legs buckling, her warm smile morphing into a look of pain. And then the screams. _

_The screams, they were the worse somehow. They went on and on, making it impossible to quiet my mind. It had all happened in the blink of an eye and yet, I could see it my mind's eye, slow, methodical, detailed. _

_And then she was standing there again and I knew it was going to happen once more. I called her name to warn her but she just looked up, eyes bright and shiny, totally oblivious to what was about to happen._

_Again. And again and again and again and again._

_'ANNA! ANNA! NO! NO! NO!'_

WCWCWC

From the faint lightening of the sky outside their bedroom window, Sara deduced it was going on five in the morning when she woke to the sound of Neal's shouts.

He was tossing and turning, calling out someone's name although it was unclear whose. Maybe Diana? Alana?… or banana… maybe he was being chased down the street by a giant banana.

'Neal! Neal! Wake up!' she said with a good strong elbow to his back.

The moaning continued. Whatever he was dreaming about had taken him far, far away and was buried in a deep, profound sleep.

'Neal!' she repeated as he flung his arm across, barely missing her nose with his closed fist.

'Anna… Anna! NO! NO! NO!'

Sara sat up, trying to keep her face out of his fist's trajectory.

'Neal!' she said, shaking him violently.

The screaming stopped but the moaning persisted and Hope's voice was heard from the next room, only adding to the confusion.

'Momma!' she called out as Sara muttered under her breath.

'Great, now you've really done it Caffrey' she mumbled as her feet touched the ground.

Hope was crying loudly by the time she got to her and she lifted her from her crib and hurried back into their bedroom, speaking soothingly as she went.

'It's okay baby, it's okay' she repeated, running her hands through her hair.

Neal was still comatose but he stirred at the sound of their voices.

WCWCWC

I woke to the sound of a baby crying, utterly confused about where I was. I could see someone standing over me and I blinked.

It was Sara with a baby in her arms… not just any baby. It was Hope and she was crying.

'What's going on?' I groaned, my mind still in limbo.

'You woke her up with all your screaming' came the annoyed reply.

'What? What screaming?'

'Move over' she ordered as she slipped into bed with Hope in her arms.

Hope seemed to settle at the sound of our voices and she reached for me. I pulled her in against me, noticing I was sweating like crazy. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. Hope began to relax, her thumb returning to her mouth.

'I… I guess I was dreaming' I said, my voice rough.

'You think?' Sara replied sarcastically. 'That was a hell of a dream. You were shouting somebody's name. Diana maybe?'

I began to reconnect with reality, the horrible images finally starting to fade. I hadn't had the dreams in years, probably not since I was a kid.

'No' came Sara's voice. 'It was Anna.'

She sat up straight in bed and stared right at me. 'Who the hell is Anna?'

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The last time I visited the Koslawski home was the night of the shooting. Although I continued to go to school with Tim and we remained friends, I was never again invited for spaghetti dinners on Thursday nights or sleepovers on weekends. Not that the Koslawskis blamed me for what had happened, not to my knowledge anyway. But I suppose the sight of me would always be a painful reminder of what had happened on that fateful night.

In the weeks that followed, I would often take a detour up Eccles Drive on the way home from school just so I could walk past their house. It was three blocks out of my way but I just couldn't seem to help myself. The memories of that night were still too raw to let go of and almost as if I was doing penance, walking past the house was a strange way of staying connected to all of them. After all, we had shared an experience — as horrible as it was — that none of us would ever forget.

I would stroll by on the south side of the street, hoping I wouldn't be spotted and I'd hide behind the huge maple tree directly across the street from their house. On a couple of occasions, I spotted Mrs. Koslawski through the kitchen window. She didn't smile much anymore. I would stand there and wonder what she was making for dinner. Over the next few weeks, I began to notice some changes to the exterior of their house. A ramp was built leading up to the front door, and one day, I noticed that their dark blue Chevrolet Impala was gone and had been replaced by an older model van.

I was curious about it and one Tuesday afternoon on my way home, I snuck across the street and peeked inside the new vehicle, noticing it had been refurbished in order to accommodate a child-sized wheelchair.

I desperately wanted to know how Anna was doing but Tim would just grunt when I asked him. For the first month or so, I didn't see any sign of her as she remained in hospital then one day as I skulked by, I spotted her, sitting on the front stoop of the house, looking out on the street. She'd been set up in some sort of contraption that looked like an elevated stroller with a large table attached to it. There were toys set out in front of her but she didn't seem interested in any of them. That contagious laugh and those bright shiny eyes of hers were nowhere to be seen. It was as if the life had been sucked right out of her. Mrs. Koslawski came out to check on her and I ducked behind the tree, worried she might spot me.

After a while, I stopped walking by their place but I never stopped thinking about that little girl. There was this huge hole in my heart that didn't go away for years and with the events of recent days, had opened up again as painful and raw as if the events had taken place just days before.

'More!' came Hope's voice and I snapped back to reality. I gave my daughter a sad smile.

Her face was covered in yogurt as was most of her highchair and her eyes shone bright with mischief. Just the thought of her going through the kind of ordeal which had besieged Anna Koslawski reignited a wave of sadness and tugged at my heartstrings. How would I go on if such a tragedy struck my baby girl? Although I'd always tried to imagine the devastation Mr. and Mrs. Koslawski must have felt, now that I was a dad myself, it made the whole thing so much more real. And so much more frightening.

'You want more yogurt?' I asked, forcing a smile.

'More' she repeated.

I was suddenly overcome with emotion and I picked her up from her highchair and pulled her in fiercely against my chest. She squirmed and pushed me away, her yogurt covered hands pushing against my face as I leaned in to kiss her.

'More' she said once again, her voice growing impatient.

I carried her over to the refrigerator and took out the container of strawberry yogurt and spooned some into her bowl. Her highchair was covered in the messy stuff and I took the time to wipe it down before settling her back into it. She would need a good scrub before I put her down for her nap.

Sara had questioned me about the dream and I'd mumbled something about not remembering. That had been enough to satisfy her for the time being. She had no way of knowing that our recent discussions about bringing a gun into our house had triggered long forgotten memories and had awakened demons somewhere deep inside me. It had been almost thirty years since that day and although the first few months, I'd had nightmares every single night, I hadn't much thought of Anna Koslawski until Sara had raised the issue of gun ownership once more.

When I put Hope down for her nap, I pulled out my laptop, intent on doing some research. After primary school, Tim and his family had moved to Cleveland - something about a promotion for Mr. Koslawski. I'd never seen Tim or his family again. I started looking there, in Cleveland, googling all the members of the Koslawski family. I didn't get any hits on either of the parents but a thorough search led me to Timothy Koslawski, real estate agent, employed by Sanger and Newbern, a firm located in Lansing, Michigan. A few more clicks and I was face to face with my old friend. He'd lost a fair bit of hair but the sides of his balding dome were covered by snippets of ginger hair and I could still see that mischief in his eyes. A few personal notes on his bio page told me he resided in Haslett, a suburb of Lansing with his wife Lynn and his two children. A family photograph revealed that six-year-old son Michael had inherited his dad's colouring and his four-year old daughter was blonde just like her pretty mom.

I continued my search, requesting Anna this time. Anna Koslawski was not a very common name and sure enough I came up with several hits for an Anna Koslawski-Peters. I immediately clicked on the images and… bam.

There she was. I immediately recognized that twinkle in her eye from all those years ago. She was a beautiful young woman with dark brown hair and inquisitive eyes. I was surprised to see her brilliant smile which appeared in stark contrast to the cold hard wheelchair on which she was seated. The first image I came across showed her surrounded by photographs hung on a wall behind her, framed photos of far away places and people. I clicked on the picture of the young woman which redirected me to the website for the Greenberg Gallery in Harrisburg. The article written by the gallery's curator, a man by the name of Mike Spooner, spoke of a local photographer and her first public exhibit. It was dated two years ago.

I let out a loud sigh of relief. Anna looked wonderful: vibrant, full of life but most importantly, she looked happy. The article spoke of how she'd documented a recent trip to South America through photographs. I zoomed in, examining some of the faces she'd captured on film - everyday faces, faces that spoke of hard lives lived in beautiful places. She had a real knack for capturing the soul of her subjects and I lingered a little, studying each portrait. She was obviously very talented and the glimmer in her eyes spoke of the pride she had in her work.

I continued my search, learning more about the young woman I'd last seen as a two-year-old toddler. A recent post mentioned that she'd gotten married the previous summer and I began to search for a Facebook page that might tell me more about her private life. As Facebook pages went, hers was rather sparse, mostly posts of her photographs but I did find a picture from her wedding day. She was glowing although I couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness at the sight of the wheelchair of which she was a prisoner. And yet, she looked amazing, her bright smile drawing you in as she sat next to her new husband - a man she referred to as Connor in her post. Connor Peters, I assumed as I reflected on her hyphenated name.

A myriad of emotions coursed through my body: pain and guilt at my part in sealing her fate, sadness at the thought that she was saddled with being in a chair for the rest of her life, delight at seeing the joy in her eyes and relief that a woman who deserved nothing less, had found happiness.

I continued for a good half-hour, trying to find out everything I could about her, where she'd travelled to, the three or four exhibitions she'd had - mostly local affairs that had been very well received. There were a couple of articles from local newspapers, one even touting her as the next Annie Leibovitz.

The last post I came upon left me breathless. Anna was holding an exhibit of her latest works following her recent trip to Kenya. There were a few teasers of what she'd be presenting but what caught my eye was the name and location of the gallery which would be hosting her works: Galerie Nicolas Béranger in Staten Island.

I re-read the details, feeling my heart pounding in my chest. I slammed the laptop shut and reached for the phone.

WCWCWC

'Flying colours!' Mitch announced as he threw a piece of paper on Sara's desk.

She glanced up at him with a look of annoyance. 'There _are_ no flying colours Mitch, it's pass or fail' she grumbled.

'Still… I'm ready to roll' he said, his cockiness back with a vengeance.

'Did you get all that transcription and filing done?' she asked.

He presented her with a pile of documents, a wide smile on his face.

She glanced down, thoroughly impressed. Perhaps he would do better in the typist pool instead of investigating insurance fraud.

He wagged his eyebrows at her. 'You _did_ say you'd let me back on the Van Dyke case if I got this all done.'

She kept reading. 'I did say that, didn't I?'

He took that as an invitation to sit down and he sprawled out on the chair facing her desk. 'So, tell me. What's going on?'

She took a deep breath, just long enough to weigh her options. In all fairness, he'd done as she'd asked. It would be unfair not to give him a shot. And the bossman would be pleased - a bonus to be sure.

'Alright. Tell you what, my source says there's a deal going down tomorrow and it's looking like it might be our piece.'

Mitch's eyes grew to the size of saucers. 'Can I come?'

'Can you keep your mouth shut and stay out of trouble?' came the reply.

WCWCWC

'Neal Caffrey!' came the heavily accented voice of my old friend François Paradis aka Nicolas Béranger. He pronounced it Neal Caffré - à la française.

I'd known him for years, starting in Narbonne, a small village in the south of France where Mozzie and I had hidden out for a couple of months after a particularly nasty run-in with the Police nationale. I'd crossed paths with him again on a case I'd worked with Peter. Only his name wasn't François Paradis anymore and he'd gone legit. Well, mostly legit. He'd made a narrow escape from his homeland and had settled in Staten Island where he'd opened a gallery.

'Franç —' I caught myself just in time. 'Nick' I corrected course. 'How have you been?'

'Bien, bien merci et toi?'

'Great thanks!'

'Are you looking for some help on another one of your cases?' he asked, his vocabulary exceptional but his pronunciation a little wonky.

'No, I finished up my time with the Bureau last fall' I informed him. 'I'm a free man now and I have a daughter.'

'A daughter? How did you manage that on your own?'

I chuckled. 'And a wife…' I added.

'Neal Caffrey is off the market?' he said with a resounding chuckle.

He was a tall slim fellow, with a moustache and wire rim glasses that gave him an air of respectability. I imagined him throwing his head back as he laughed.

'Afraid so' I replied.

'Never thought I'd see the day. So to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?'

'I was hoping you could tell me more about the exhibit that's opening in your gallery this weekend?'

'Anna Koslawski-Peters?'

'Yeah. What do you know about her?'

'She's amazing, I was lucky to nab her. Two other galleries in Manhattan tried to entice her into using their place for her new exhibition. She's going to be big Neal.'

'I saw some of the stuff she's done online. She looks really talented. Any chance you can get me a couple of tickets to her opening?'

I could hear him moving papers around as if searching for something.

'Awww… I'm already overbooked…' he said, letting his words trail.

As I'd learned long ago, 'no' meant try again. His reply left only one possibility - there was something he wanted from me in exchange.

'I was really hoping to go. How can I help make it happen?'

There was silence for a moment. 'You still in touch with the little man?' he asked.

'Yeah, of course I am.'

'I could use his services but I can't seem to locate him.'

_Check my dinner table almost any night of the week _I thought. 'I could make that happen for you.'

'Oh, look at that' he said as if he'd just realized something. 'I've got a couple of tickets after all.'

I smiled; he hadn't changed one bit - he was still a two-bit hustler.

'And they're VIP tickets. You can meet the woman herself.'

I could feel my heart pumping away in my chest, my blood pressure rising. I'd acted impulsively by calling, thinking I would like to see her for myself. I hadn't given much thought to coming face to face with her - or any members of her family for that matter. Would Anna recognize me after all these years? And, if so, how would she react to seeing me again?

'I'll get Moz to give you a call' I said.

'Perfect' he replied. 'Oh, and Neal, we're asking guests to dress accordingly… you know, a jungle theme. Anna thought it would be fun.'

'A jungle theme? Alright, see you then.'

WCWCWC

The doorbell rang while I was pulling together dinner. Hope let out a shriek of joy, now conditioned to get excited at the sound of the doorbell - just like Pavlov's dogs. Someone was coming to visit and to a curious one-year-old that was always an exciting prospect.

I was surprised to find Jeff Mason standing there in a suit, carrying a briefcase. I invited him in as Hope toddled behind me, trying to beat me to the door.

'Sorry to bother you Neal' he said as he looked down to see Hope hanging onto my pant leg.

'Hello little one' he said, crouching down.

Hope cowered behind me. This wasn't Momma, Uncle Peter or any of the other people from her little universe. I picked her up in my arms and she held on to my shirt collar tightly.

'This is Hope' I said with a proud smile.

He waved at her, wisely keeping his distance.

'Hi Hope. You're such a pretty girl. I have a big girl like you over at my house too.'

Hope seemed to relinquish her stranglehold on me and gave him a hesitant smile.

'Looks like you've got a way around babies' I remarked.

'Our daughter is about that age and she still makes strange with people she doesn't know' he explained, maintaining eye contact with Hope.

'Listen, I just wanted to tell you how impressed the guys were with your input the other night. The consensus was that we form a small group of two or three and meet with Adam Wood to discuss some strategies. He's got stats and stuff to share with us.'

He shrugged shyly before continuing. 'Can I talk you into it?' he asked.

'Yeah, yeah, of course. Any new thefts reported?'

'Not since yours, thankfully. Maybe coming face to face with you was enough to scare the guys off.'

I nodded.

'I know this is last minute but I wondered if you're free tonight?'

Weeknights were pretty well routine around our place - unless Sara or I had something on. Tuesdays though, Sara attended a book club over at Elizabeth's with Mozzie and a couple of women from El's neighbourhood.

It was still a challenge to remember her schedule as well as mine - the joys of matrimony - and parenthood.

'Sara goes to bookclub meetings on Tuesdays' I began before my mind clued in to an alternative. 'But if you don't mind doing it here… Hope's in bed by 7:30.'

Jeff nodded enthusiastically. 'Yeah, yeah, that'd be perfect. Why don't we make it 8:00, give her time to settle' he said, smiling at Hope. 'I'll let Adam and Charlie Stevens know.'

'Great!' I opened the door to let him out and he turned back to look at Hope, doing his best to let her get to know him.

'Bye Hope' he called out before leaving.

To my surprise, she waved back.

WCWCWC

The men were curious as to where I'd learned so much about break-ins. I gave them the bare bones, mentioning that my knowledge of art had led me to work on some cases with the white collar unit of the FBI and how my best friend was a special agent. They didn't push it and I was glad to leave it at that. Adam Wood seemed like a great guy, a local cop who worked the neighbourhood beat. He was able to share some details about the break-ins, what had been taken, the time of day the thefts had taken place, the thieves' MO.

It was obvious to all of us that we were talking about the same two guys. Although I'd been the only one to get a glimpse of them, they had hit at the same time of day each time and had headed straight for cash and electronics.

I'd met Charlie Stevens before, considering that all that separated our two houses was a seven-foot fence. He was an older guy, maybe late fifties and he worked as manager of a local car dealership, just a regular guy working hard towards his pension. His wife Myrtle was a pleasant, rotund little woman. She'd chatted me up a few times when I'd been in the backyard with Hope. And by chatted up, I mean talked my ear off. She was a lovely older lady, just a little talkative for my taste but then again, there were much worst things in a neighbour - like say, having a teenage son who's the drummer in a rock band and uses your garage for rehearsals or having a snippy dog who barks at all hours. Neither was the case with Charlie and Myrtle Stevens - no children, no pets.

After discussion, Charlie and I agreed to take turns monitoring the street between the hours of three and six in the afternoon which were the times the break-ins had taken place. They'd all happened on weekdays so we decided to divvy up the days between us. I was home most of the time so I took Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays and Charlie said he could get away from work early on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

I was beginning to feel like I might belong somewhere - somewhere other than the prisoner's yard at Sing Sing or at the Bureau, sitting behind a desk with my anklet weighing me down. For the longest time, I'd wondered what life would be like when my sentence was over and to be honest, this scenario hadn't even cracked the top one hundred but hey… life is full of surprises. Amazing, unpredictable surprises.

The guys were gone by 10:00, even before Sara made it home and I made some notes from the meeting, intending to e-mail them to the rest of the group. We'd jokingly called ourselves the Meadowbrook Vigilantes but officially, we were called the Prospect Park Neighbourhood Watch Program. Adam had seemed pleased to have some civilians helping keep crime down in the neighbourhood. He promised the police's full cooperation.

Sara got in shortly after they left, carrying her Harlan Coben novel under her arm. She joined me on the couch and put her feet up on my lap, fluttering her eyelashes and giving me that look I'd come to know. I set down my notes and removed her shoes, beginning to knead her tired feet.

'How was the meeting?' she asked.

'Good. We've decided to monitor the street more carefully.'

'Well look at you Caffrey' she said with a warm smile. 'You've gone and gotten yourself a bonafide mystery to solve.'

I shrugged demurely. This felt right - just enough intrigue for a busy stay-at-home dad.

'Was Moz at the book club meeting?' I asked.

'Of course. He never misses' Sara sighed. 'But it's his turn to pick the book next month so we're all bracing ourselves.'

I chuckled. 'Another conspiracy theory novel?'

She nodded and let her head drop back on the couch. I noticed her face was pale and her shoulders drooped. She put in long hours at work and between taking care of Hope and squeezing in a few social activities, there wasn't much time left for anything else - including us. Her eyes fluttered shut; I could see she was done for the day. Dinner had been a blur and we hadn't said two words to each other before going our separate ways.

'Tired?' I asked, letting my hand wander up to caress her calves.

'Exhausted. You coming to bed?' she asked, willing herself to get up before she fell asleep on the couch.

I picked up my notes once more, intent on scribbling down a few more things before I forgot the details.

'I'll be up in a minute.'

She dragged herself across the room, carrying her shoes and I took a few minutes to finish up before following suit. I smiled as I walked past the front door on the way upstairs.

Off in the corner, tucked away safely, was Sara's purse.

WCWCWC

Mozzie was wonderful at working in the shadows, always had been. He'd gotten all the details he could on the bronze bust that was being fenced, passed them on to Sara and stepped out of the way, preferring to let her deal with the situation on her own. If she recovered the piece, he got his cut. It was that simple and that was all that mattered to him.

Fences often met their buyers in the back rooms of shady bars or even in the booth of a crowded restaurant if the piece was small enough to exchange discretely. But some items - such as a bronze bust of a movie legend - were a little too conspicuous to be slipped under a table so it was no surprise that the fence had chosen a more out of the way place for the swap.

Moz had filled Sara in on everything he knew about the fence — some guy whose nickname was Willy Wonka, no doubt a reference to all the goodies he could get for you. It was unclear whether or not Fred Wray, the ex-butler whom Sara suspected of stealing the piece in the first place, would show up at the exchange. Some crooks didn't trust their fences, afraid they'd get shortchanged whereas others stayed well away from the actual swap - plausible deniability and all that.

In this case, it was unclear which way things were going to go but a good insurance investigator was always prepared for anything. Either way, her job was to recover the item. Period. If she happened to catch the thief in the act, she would report them to the authorities but putting crooks in jail had never been her job.

She'd thought long and hard about whether or not to let Mitch tag along. He'd seemed a little more settled the last few days - ever since she'd given him that dressing down. But he still had that annoying swagger - not dissimilar to Neal when she'd first met him. But Dunlop had none of Neal's charm and finesse - or Neal's respect for the people around him. She could keep Mitch away from the recovery but letting him come and observe might give her some street cred with her boss, something she could certainly use in her quest to reclaim her place at the top of the heap.

Her back was to the door when she heard footsteps getting closer. She glanced up to find Ross Green, her sneaky co-worker. He'd been shaking things up since his arrival the year before. The man was smart but more notably, he was ambitious and duplicitous to boot.

'Hey Ellis' the man said with a sneaky smile. 'I heard a rumour about the Van Dyke theft.'

Sara appeared non-plussed but managed to keep her cool. 'Oh yeah? And what's that?'

He laughed. 'Commission on that one amounts to close to $20,000. I think I'll keep the 411 to myself.'

Protocol dictated that investigators not horn in on each others' business but Green and their colleague Mateo Suarez were infamous for undercutting anyone on their path in order to get to the prize. This wasn't the first time Sara had to stand up for herself - and it sure as hell wouldn't be the last.

'Good luck with that Ross' she said, with all the self-assurance she could muster. 'Oh, and by the way, I came across some intel on the Byron case. Maybe we can do business.'

He appeared flustered, doing his best to keep from showing it. Was she bluffing? He couldn't tell for sure but she seemed to have his number; his bark was worse than his bite.

Sara put her hand to her ear and leaned in as if she'd heard a sound coming from outside the office.

'I hear your mom calling you Ross' she said, watching as his smile faded.

Asshole, she thought as he scurried away and back under the rock from which he'd crawled.

Mitch was seconds behind him. He appeared, his face lit up with excitement. 'Is it time to go?' he asked.

Sara nodded. 'Let me just make a quick detour and I'll be ready to leave.'

Mitch Dunlop gave her a thumbs up and settled in the chair across from her desk to wait for her to return. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure she was out of sight before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his brand new toy: a shiny Smith and Wesson revolver.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

'This looks great El' I said as she placed a large bowl of pasta in front of me. I took a whiff, inhaling the distinctive aroma of basil. 'Thanks.'

I was about to reach over to start cutting up the smaller portion of ziti macaroni El had set down next to mine but Peter beat me to it just as Hope reached for it.

As usual, Hope's high chair was nestled between her godparents — to Peter's left with Elizabeth on the other side of her, sitting at the end of the table. I sat across from El, out of reach. It appeared my services were not required - which was usually the case whenever we dined at Casa Burke. Hope watched her uncle Peter carry out the ritual of cutting the pasta into tiny bites, her big blue eyes moving from the small bowl, over to his face and back again.

'More!' she clamoured although she hadn't yet taken a bite.

I guess that's what happened when you had limited vocabulary - you had to work with what you had.

'Mmmm! This is going to be so yummy pumpkin!' Peter said with exaggerated enthusiasm.

'Here's your milk sweetheart' Elizabeth announced as she set the sippy cup in front of her goddaughter.

The truth was their attention was focussed solely on Hope whenever we came over to visit. I might as well not be there at all for all the attention I got. Hope picked up her cup and took a sip, mastering the task like she'd been doing it her whole life. Soon, we'd be able to graduate to a regular plastic cup. What had happened to that tiny newborn who'd been curled up in my arms just a few short months ago?

Sara had breastfed Hope for the first six months but we'd started giving her cow's milk when Sara had returned to work in the fall. Hope had asked to nurse for the first couple of months and Sara had indulged her at bedtime but the ritual had slowly evaporated as Hope lost interest. Come to think of it, I hadn't seen Sara breastfeed her once since we'd moved into our new place.

To be honest, I missed it. It had become one of my favourite things, watching Sara cradling Hope in her arms, rocking her as she nursed. I sighed at the recollection and followed it up with a secret smile: soon, we'd be doing it all over again with baby number two and I couldn't wait.

El leaned over me, filling my glass of wine and I smiled at her. It was always a treat to have dinner at the Burkes and it had become routine whenever Sara had to work late at the office.

'What's Sara got on her agenda tonight?' Peter asked, placing Hope's bowl on her high chair and setting her loose.

He tugged at her bib like a pro, making sure most of the pasta didn't land on her clothes. It was a valiant effort on his part but I already knew how this would play out.

I swallowed before speaking. 'She got a lead on a stolen sculpture she's been chasing. Some bust of James Dean that's worth more than both our cars put together.'

Peter nodded and returned his attention to Hope, fussing with her bib once more. Hope swatted him away, her hands diving into the food with gusto.

'Use your spoon sweet pea' I admonished as Peter placed it in her hand.

'If I were you, I'd roll up my sl—'

I was halfway through my sentence when Hope grabbed Peter's arm, leaving a hand sized print of tomato sauce on his dress shirt.

El and I exchanged glances. 'I tried…' I mumbled under my breath.

'So, any leads on those thefts in your neighbourhood?' Elizabeth asked.

'Nothing yet but we've formed a neighbourhood watch program' I said. 'I'm heading it up.'

I was surprised at the tinge of pride in my voice. It felt good to be on this side of a crime spree for a change.

'I've been walking by the high school after classes just to see if I might recognize them but… nothing yet. One of the neighbours and I are monitoring the streets during peak hours.'

Peter nodded, only half listening as his mind focussed on the progress Hope was making with her plate of food. She already had sauce all over her face and up into her hair as she attempted to navigate her meal with a spoon, not an easy task when you had stubby little fingers.

'You'll get 'em' Peter said in encouragement.

We hadn't chatted much since our heated argument earlier in the week. I'd replayed the conversation in my mind over and over again and I'd begun to realize I'd gotten a little carried away. Now that I knew Sara was the main culprit, my anger towards Peter had faded to mild annoyance. Besides, I could tell he was feeling bad about his part in the ill-fated scheme.

In a sign of goodwill, I asked him how things were going at the Bureau. We talked briefly about a case that had just dropped into his lap and I gave him my take; he seemed happy that I was prepared to go there.

Hope's table manners left a lot to be desired and the rest of the meal - as brief as it was - was spent trying to keep the mess around her high chair to a minimum. When we finished, Elizabeth offered to take her upstairs to give her a bath and change her into her jammies. Chances were, by the time we were ready to leave, Hope would be on the verge of falling asleep.

Peter put on some coffee and I helped him with the clean up. There was still some tension between us but we managed to make small talk until we settled in the living room with our coffees in hand.

'So' he said, settling in across from me. 'Are we good?'

I could sense the strain in his voice. For a minute there, I wasn't even sure what he was alluding to. Our discussion had all but faded into the background as I dealt with more pressing matters. And besides, it wasn't the first time we'd disagreed on something and I knew for a fact it wouldn't be the last.

My eyes met his and I shrugged. 'I guess I was pretty rough on you, huh?'

'I deserved it' he said, looking down at his cup. 'I never should have agreed to it. It was stupid of me. I was just… well, Sara was worried about you and I didn't have the heart to say no to her.'

I could certainly understand that. 'Believe me, I get it. She's not an easy person to say no to.'

Peter nodded and I could see relief in his eyes.

'Sara says she's worried I'll eventually regret leaving my old life behind' I added, by way of explanation.

'Do you? I mean, regret it?'

'No!' I said emphatically. 'Peter, Sara's surprise pregnancy was the best thing that ever happened to me. It just… it takes a while to get used to all the changes, that's all.'

'The first year of marriage is rough, I'll grant you that' Peter said, in agreement. 'I remember our first year, we had all kinds of arguments, big and small… misunderstandings mostly. Trying to guess what the other one's thinking, having to learn to share your personal space with another person. You have to take into consideration their likes, their dislikes, all those little idiosyncrasies you thought were so cute before you got married don't seem so cute anymore.'

I chuckled. Peter was absolutely right. 'Whenever I need to make plans, I still have to remind myself to check with Sara to see what she's up to. Especially now that we have Hope.'

'I get it' Peter said.

He leaned in as if he wanted to confide something. 'So the two of you worked things out?'

'We talked it over' I said as I took a sip of coffee. 'I'm trying to see things from her point of view.'

'What about that other thing? You know… following the break-in.'

My heart started beating faster. I shook my head and sighed.

'You know Neal, open communication is one of the most important things in a marriage. I mean, we all keep little secrets from each other… usually because we want to protect the person we love but… the big stuff, well there shouldn't be any secrets.'

'It's not that easy, Peter. I mean, Sara knows pretty well all there is to know about my life before I went to jail but… there are some things I still haven't told her.'

'Don't you think maybe it's time you opened up to her?'

I could feel my face tensing up and my throat grew tight. 'Sara's always had guns around her. Hell, I remember the night I broke into her place during the Halbridge case. She had one tucked away under her mattress.'

Peter chuckled as he imagined the scene. Sara wasn't one to live in fear, that was for sure.

'When she moved into June's, I asked her if she'd mind keeping her gun at the office. She was pretty good about it, she didn't ask any questions. I think she felt safe there in the middle of the city. But the break-in really shook her up. She doesn't understand why I wouldn't want to keep one for protection.'

'I've always wondered too…' Peter said.

Peter had tried to raise the issue with me a couple of times while we worked together but I'd never wanted to talk about it.

'Don't you think maybe you owe her an explanation for why you feel the way you do?'

I looked up and frowned. 'Do I?'

Peter shrugged. 'It's obviously something significant. It might help her understand, don't you think?'

I sipped my coffee in silence but deep down, I knew he was right.

'If you want, we could do a dry run. Might make it easier for you to talk to her about it.'

There was an uncomfortable silence. Hope's giggles could be heard coming from upstairs.

'Neal, why don't you tell me what happened to make you hate guns so much.'

I looked up at him. Suddenly, I had an overwhelming urge to share my burden. Except for the Koslawskis and the people directly involved in the aftermath of the shooting, no one else knew the details of what had happened that night.

I sat back and took a deep breath. 'There was a shooting…' I said, my voice quiet.

Peter sat back in his seat and crossed his leg over his knee, settling in to listen.

'It happened a long time ago when I lived in St. Louis. I was eight years old. My mom had checked out by then… but there was this family, the Koslawskis. Tim was my best friend all through elementary school and his family sort of… well, they welcomed me into their home.'

'Tim's mom was sweet and kind. I think she knew how bad things were for me at home. She used to invite me to stay for dinner… there was always something simmering on the kitchen stove. She'd say there was plenty to go around but I would notice that she hardly ate whenever I stayed over… I think she was doing without so I would have something nutritious to eat. They weren't well off but they were kind and generous… Mr. Koslawski was a cop, just like my dad.'

I looked up at Peter, his eyes were locked on mine.

'Well, not like mine, it turns out. He was an _honest_ cop. And hard-working. He worked a lot of overtime and he wasn't home much but he was a good guy, you know, working hard to give his family a good life. Tim had a little sister. Her name was Anna and she was two-years-old.'

I could feel a smile forming on my lips. 'She was so cute, dark hair, dark eyes, always laughing. She and I took a liking to each other. Tim used to find it annoying when she followed us around the house but I didn't. I guess I'd always wanted a brother or sister and I could see she looked up to me.'

I was on a roll and my mouth was having trouble keeping up with my brain. I took a couple of deep breaths to help slow me down.

'One day after school, Mrs. Koslawski invited me to stay for dinner. I remember every single detail about that night. She'd made beef stew and there was homemade bread and chocolate pudding.'

I glanced up at Peter and gave him a sad smile.

'Funny the stuff you remember… Mr. Koslawski came home early that day, just in time for dinner. There was a parent teacher conference at the school and Mrs. Koslawski wanted to go. He needed to be home for the kids.'

I could feel my heart beating faster as I spoke. It was as if I was there, reliving every single minute of it.

'After dinner, Mr. Koslawski settled in his easy chair in the living room and started reading the paper. Tim and I went up to his room to play. Anna followed us up there. She was always tagging along, wanting to play with us. We played with Tim's train set for a while but she kept wanting to join in and Tim was getting annoyed.'

'_'You want to play cops and robbers?'_ he asked me after a while. That sounded like a great idea and Tim told me to follow him, said he wanted to show me something. I remember Anna sitting there, pushing a train car back and forth on the carpet in Tim's room, not particularly paying attention to us. Tim led me next door to his parents' room. I'd never been in there before and I remember looking around, noticing how tidy it was - not like my mom's room at all. I followed him to the far side of the room and Tim sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes bright with excitement. He was adventurous, the kind of guy who wasn't afraid of anything. He was always getting into trouble at school. Mrs. Dean, our third grade teacher used to call him 'Tim the Menace', you know, like the cartoon.'

Peter hadn't moved an inch since I'd started speaking. He nodded.

'He was inquisitive and gutsy. I kind of admired him. Believe it or not, I was pretty quiet back then - sneaking around was more my thing but Tim… well, he was in your face. He said something about a secret and he opened the drawer to his dad's night table… and he pulled out a gun.'

I was suddenly aware that my breathing was shallow.

'I'd never seen a gun up close before. I had a vague recollection of my dad coming home from work with his gun nestled in his holster but I was just a toddler when he was taken away. I sure as hell had never seen one up this close.'

'_'This is the trigger'_ I remember Tim telling me, his face serious. _'You have to pull it to shoot someone.'_ I remember feeling mesmerized and excited at the sight of it.'

'Then he asked me if I wanted to hold it and he held it out in his hand. I remember pointing to the safety, not knowing what it was. _'What does that do?'_ I said. He pushed the lever back and giggled. _'Nothing, I guess'_ he said.'

You could have heard a pin drop in the Burke living room. Satchmo lay at Peter's feet, sound asleep. I could hear muffled voices coming from upstairs.

"_Here, take it'_ I remember him saying. It didn't take a lot of coaxing. I was a normal, curious eight-year-old kid. I put my hand out and he placed it in the palm of my hand. I remember being surprised at the weight of it. It was heavy, shiny… I remember it gleaming in the light of the room.'

Peter, who hadn't moved an inch since I'd started speaking, leaned in, as if knowing somehow what had happened next.

I took a deep breath.

'I held it for a minute and Tim showed me how to hold it if you wanted to shoot someone. I remember the sensation of my finger on the cold metal of the trigger. I lifted it up in the air and aimed it at the ceiling, like I'd seen in those old westerns. Tim thought it was funny. I made some shooting sounds and he laughed some more. We were both sitting on the edge of the bed and then he reached out and pretended to wrestle it out of my hand. We were both laughing…'

The sound of El's voice came floating down the stairs. She was talking to Hope and I heard my daughter laugh out loud. El must have been tickling her. I almost stopped talking but something deep inside urged me to keep going.

'What happened next is a total blur. I remember Tim and I rolling around on the bed, pretending to fight over the gun, like he was a police officer trying to disarm me and I was trying to hold him off. We were laughing harder, getting carried away with the game. At one point, I felt his hand over mine and then…'

I'd been sitting on the couch, leaning forward with my arms leaning against my legs, Peter across from me on one of the armchairs. He got up and moved closer, settling in next to me. I could feel his hand rest on my back but I couldn't see the whites of his eyes anymore. I leaned further forward, letting my head drop to my chest.

I didn't recognize my own voice when I next spoke. 'The sound was…. it was deafening and it echoed for what seemed like hours. And yet, through it all, I could hear a soft gurgling noise and I turned to face the bedroom door. Anna was there, slumped over and there was blood all around her.'

I stopped and swallowed. There was deathly silence in the room.

'We hadn't even heard her come into the room… but I should have known. She always followed us everywhere. I think I screamed, Tim screamed. Anna was quiet. Her eyes were closed and her smile had disappeared. At some point, Mr. Koslawski came running in and there was more shouting, the gun was on the ground at our feet. I don't really remember what happened next, just that there was screaming. Mr. Koslawski was crying and trying to talk into the phone. He was on the floor and Anna was lying in his arms, motionless… like I'd never seen her before. She didn't make a sound. The puddle of blood around her was getting bigger and bigger.'

'I don't know for sure what happened next. Everything is blurry and even though the sounds were muted, they were horribly loud. Then there were other people there, EMT's, police. I'm not sure what I was doing… it felt like I was floating, like I was going to wake up and realize it was all a dream.'

I could see Peter waiting to hear what happened next. He patted my back like you would a newborn who needs burping. I could feel my eyes growing wet as I spoke but my voice remained surprisingly strong.

'Did she…'

'They took her away and I found my way home. I didn't know if she was dead or alive. For weeks, all I could hear was the sound of the gun going off and the screams that followed. I couldn't sleep and when I did, I would have constant nightmares. My mom did her best but she couldn't understand… no one could unless they'd been there.'

'The next day at school, everybody was talking about what had happened to Tim's sister. She was in the hospital, they were trying to save her but nobody knew if she would make it or not. I… I was in a daze for weeks. I felt… I'd been there and yet I wasn't part of the family and I didn't know what was going on. Tim came back to school a few days later and said his sister was going to need more surgery but… I don't think either one of us understood exactly what was happening.'

'So she made it?' Peter asked, his voice quiet.

I nodded. 'Yeah… But I never got the chance to talk to her or see her again. I mean, I'd sneak by their house after school and sometimes I'd see her sitting outside but… I never had the nerve to stop. I was never invited back to the Koslawskis and to this day, I don't know if they blame me for what happened.'

'There was a police investigation. Mr. Koslawski was charged with careless storage of a firearm… It was thirty years ago, the laws weren't what they are today. He got a suspended sentence… I was questioned at length and so was Tim. We were eight-year-old boys, stupid kids who'd made an impulsive decision that had cost a two-year-old the use of legs for the rest of her life.'

'Do you know what happened to her?' Peter asked.

I opened my mouth to speak. There was a commotion at the top of the stairs followed by the sound of both Elizabeth and Hope's voices.

I cleared my throat and wiped my eyes and Peter pulled away but El could see something was up. I took advantage of the distraction to get up and walk over to them, taking Hope from her arms.

'Look at you' I said, my voice light. 'All cleaned up. And you're wearing Poppa's favourite pyjamas.'

I hugged her and she hugged me back, almost as if she knew I needed it in the worst way.

WCWCWC

The alley behind the Majestic Hotel seemed to be a popular spot - it you were a druggie or a crook or an eight pound rat. Syringes littered the ground and there was garbage galore all over the place. Sara stepped daintily around the trash, trying not to get her stiletto heels dirty as Mitchell trudged behind her.

'You sure this is the place?' he murmured.

She glanced at him, seeing the disdain in his eyes. 'Actually, this is one of the nicer places I've seen for a swap' she said, goading him on.

He frowned and kept following her all the way to the end of the alley where an overflowing garbage bin sat. Even though she was expecting it, Sara still cringed when she saw the flurry of activity behind the large blue box - a good six to eight rats scattered in the opposite direction.

'Yuck' came Mitch's voice.

'If you want to recover stuff, you've got to learn to go where the action is' Sara said with an eyebrow wag.

'I'm not going back there' Mitch complained.

'Like hell you're not' she said, pushing him ahead of her. 'Now get your ass in there and shut up.'

She squeezed in behind the large bin next to him and held her breath, expecting another flurry of activity. Sure enough, a handful of rodents jumped out from inside the garbage bin and took off, frightened by the sound of the human voices.

Sara felt her stomach lurch but she kept it in check. She wasn't about to show any weakness, especially in front of this guy.

'This is disgusting' he moaned, holding his nose.

Sara's eyes were already studying the short backstreet which Moz had identified as Willie Wonka's favourite place to do business. She wasn't sure what to expect; each swap was different from the next. Some were civil affairs, brief and polite, others were more confrontational. On occasion, a fence would try to up the price at the last minute, intent on pocketing the difference. Some fences were real gentlemen but the ones Mozzie usually wanted to burn were scumbags. Anything was possible.

Sara turned to give Mitch some final instructions. 'When they get here, you stay quiet. You hear me? When the merchandise comes out, I'll confront them. You stay hidden.'

She slipped her hand into her large bag and produced her baton. Mitchell's eyes grew wide. 'What? Aren't you using your gun?'

'No' she said with a tinge of impatience. 'Of course not, this isn't showdown at the OK Corral. You don't go around shooting people. I've got the law on my side.'

Sara patted the documents in her purse, proof of ownership of the stolen property.

'Most of the time, the fence will scurry faster than those rats just did. And the buyer doesn't want to get caught with stolen property either' she explained. 'So just be quiet. Watch and learn.'

She could see his hands shaking and he stuffed them deep into his pockets to keep them steady.

'Your job is to take pictures. If the butler shows up with the fence, we'll have the evidence we need to turn him in. Got it?'

He nodded, his eyes fixated on the end of the short alley.

'But…'

There was a soft swishing sound and Sara peeked out from behind the dumpster.

'Shhhh!' she whispered, her finger on her lips.

Within seconds, a man appeared, eyes nervously checking out the deserted space. He began to pace up and down the alleyway, tapping his foot nervously. Mozzie had given her a photograph of Willie Wonka and this guy was _not_ him.

'The buyer' Sara mouthed without sound.

The guy looked shady, no doubt a go-between for the actual buyer. He wore a faded denim jacket and a pair of old sneakers that looked like they were about to fall apart. On his head sat a Yankees baseball cap, obscuring his face. He looked around the space and grumbled. He returned to pacing, ostensibly waiting for the exchange to take place.

'It's about time' Sara heard him say as two other men appeared.

The two new arrivals couldn't be more different from each other. One of them was dressed in an old beat-up pair of khakis and was wearing a cap on his head - the old fashioned kind newsboys used to wear. Based on the picture Mozzie had provided, it was obvious even from her vantage point that she was looking at Willie Wonka. The other guy followed close behind. He was dressed in a suit - Fred Wray no doubt. He stopped at the end of the alley, not daring to venture any further.

Sara pointed down to Mitch's hands and mimicked taking pictures. He pulled out his phone, his hands shaking. For a minute there, she thought he was going to drop it on the ground and give them away but he took a breath and brought the phone up to his face.

Now, it was a waiting game. As soon as the merchandise was brought out into the open, she'd be making her move. She glanced around the alley once more. There was only one exit so she would need to stand against one of the two brick walls located on either side if she didn't want to have someone come up behind her. In Sara's experience, if she came out looking confident, swinging her baton in her hand, there was rarely any resistance. These guys, both the buyer and the fence, didn't want to get caught with stolen merchandise in their hands. Ninety percent of the time, the whole bunch of them scattered as soon as she stated who she was and what she was doing there. There was always another deal right around the corner for guys like this - unless they were dragged off to jail.

Every once in a while, she'd come across some idiot who didn't know when to cut bait. In cases like that, all she needed to do was give a little demonstration of what her baton could do. That usually did the trick.

This one, however, was looking like a textbook recovery.

As she always did, Sara felt the adrenaline pumping through her veins and she peeked out from behind the dumpster one more time, preparing to pounce.

'Come on' the buyer said. 'We're not here to socialize.'

Willie Wonka opened the large garbage bag he'd brought with him and pulled out the bronze bust. He showed it to the buyer while Fred Wray continued to lurk at the end of the alley, keeping an eye on the side street.

The buyer pulled out a wad of cash and flashed it in front of Willie. That seemed to get Wray's attention and he took a few steps closer so get a better look at the cash.

'Showtime!' Sara murmured under her breath as she stepped out from her hiding place.

'Good evening gentlemen' she said with all the confidence she could muster. She positioned herself against the wall, swinging her baton for good measure.

'It appears you have something that belongs to me.'

Willie had been caught red-handed a couple of times in his long, storied career and apparently he had no interest in repeating the experience. He shoved the sculpture in the direction of the buyer who didn't seem inclined to hand over the money.

'Wait a minute!' Fred Wray called out as he stepped closer. 'I'm not leaving without the cash.'

Sara's hand was already on the bust, her other hand tapping her baton against her thigh, goading them. Willy glanced towards the exit and she recognized the look on his face; he couldn't get out of there fast enough. His client, however, was not so inclined.

'I want that cash' Wray repeated, trying to get past Sara so he could grab the stack of bills from the buyer's hand.

The buyer ducked and made a move to get away with Wray doing his best to block the exit. Sara stood there, the elusive prize in her hand, trying to get out of harms way.

There was a ruckus behind the dumpster and to everyone's surprise, a loud bang followed. Sara felt a gush of air fly past her as all three men began to scatter. She felt something tug at her shoulder and the bust slipped from her hand and onto the blacktop, shattering into pieces as she reached up to cradle her arm. She pulled her bloodied hand away and stared down in disbelief.

She glanced behind her to find Mitchell standing there with a gun in his hand and a look of horror on his face.

'Oops' he said. 'I was aiming for the other guy.'

WCWCWC

Finding Mozzie lying on my couch should have taken me by surprise but it didn't. The alarm was off and the TV was blaring when I walked into the house with Hope sound asleep in my arms.

'How'd you turn off the alarm?' I asked as I followed the sounds into the family room.

He gave me a long-suffering look. 'Seriously Neal? 111182?'

I shrugged. 'Sara couldn't remember any of the other codes I tried.'

'Well, don't use your wife's birthdate for heaven's sake.'

I opened my mouth to speak.

He put up his hand to interrupt me, wagging his finger in front of my face. '… or _your _birthdate… or your wedding anniversary… or Hope's birthdate —'

'Fine, fine, I get it' I replied, annoyed. 'I'll try to be more creative.'

I glanced around the room. 'Is Sara not back yet?'

He frowned and gave me one of those smart aleck-y looks of his. 'Yeah, she's hiding in the broom closet' he said deadpan before moving towards the kitchen to refill his glass of wine.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head at his bizarre yet predictable sense of humour.

'Does it look like she's here? I've been waiting for her to get back. It's payday.'

Hope's dead weight in my arms was starting to tug at my shoulders. I lay her on the couch and followed him into the kitchen.

'But it's past eight o'clock' I said. 'I thought that thing was going down at around six.'

I pulled my phone out of my pocket. No message. I was about to dial her number when the phone rang in my hand, startling me. I let out a sigh of relief at the sight of her face.

'Hey babe, I was starting to get worried' I said into the phone.

'Hi' came her voice, sounding a little more subdued than usual.

'What's up? Is everything alright?'

'Yeah, yeah' she said, perhaps a little too quickly.

There was hesitation before she spoke. 'Do you think you could come and pick me up?'

I glanced down at Hope, sound asleep and Mozzie standing right in front of me.

'Yeah, yeah, sure. I can do that. In front of your office?'

'No, I'm in the Bronx. I'm… I'm at Calvary Hospital.'

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

I wasn't able to get much more in the way of information during my brief phone conversation with my wife. All she would say was that there'd been a little 'mishap' during the recovery and that she needed me to come and pick her up. I balked at the lack of details but she kept reminding me, in that annoyingly bossy pants tone of hers, that if something was seriously wrong, she wouldn't be calling me herself. I knew a deflection when I heard one but nonetheless, I did my best to keep my cool and I headed out. It took me all of twenty-two minutes to get out to the Bronx, the whole time imagining a variety of scenarios - each one worse than the last.

I'd never been to Calvary Hospital and it took me a minute to get my bearings once I got inside. In the end, she's the one who found me wandering around aimlessly in the emergency room. Her hair was mussed and her usually impeccable clothes disheveled but basically, she looked pretty well as she always did until I noticed she was holding her left arm tightly against her body. I craned my neck to get a better look and that's when I spotted the bright red bloodstain on the left sleeve of her blouse.

'What happened?' I asked, alarmed.

I hadn't realized I was practically shouting and she shushed me and led me to a row of seats nearby.

'There was a little bit of a kerfuffle' she began.

My eyes must have been bulging out of their sockets because she continued before I could ask anything else.

'Neal, I'm fine. I'm just… so fucking mad, that's all.'

I kept staring ahead, not sure what to ask first.

'I dropped the stupid bust and it broke into pieces. Now we have to pay it out…'

I shook my head in disbelief. 'You're kidding, right? _That's_ what you're worried about? The damn bust?'

She sighed. 'It's… Neal, the bullet barely grazed me.'

'Bullet?!' I repeated, much too loudly.

I was already trying to tug at her sleeve to get a better look but she pushed me away and gently lifted it to reveal a two inch square bandage just an inch or so down from her shoulder.

'See, it's fine' she said with a shrug.

'Fine?' I repeated. 'Sara, this is pretty well the classic definition of NOT fine. What happened?'

'The swap went down in this alley behind the Majestic Hotel' she began. 'I brought Mitch along and when the buyer and the fence started arguing, he freaked out and pulled out a gun.'

'A gun? I thought you said you hadn't even applied for a license for him yet.'

'I haven't' she replied. I could hear the annoyance in her voice. 'He went out and got one of his own.'

'The idiot' she added under her breath.

She shook her head as if replaying what had gone down. 'He was trying to scare the guys off and the gun went off accidentally.'

I let out a long audible sigh, releasing some of the tightness that had been building up inside my chest for the past half hour. And then, as it suddenly dawned on me what might have happened but for the grace of God, I grabbed Sara by the back of the neck and pulled her in tightly against me as she moaned.

'Jesus, Sara!' I whispered in her ear. 'What are you trying to do to me?'

She pulled away before I was done. Frankly, I would have held her for another twenty minutes or so — at least until my heart rate resumed its normal rhythm.

She looked up at me like a little kid. 'Can we go home?'

I half expected her to ask if we could stop for ice cream on the way back. 'Are you all done with the doctor?'

She held up a blue sheet of paper. 'Release papers' she chirped as if she was talking about the directions for installing a Brita filter instead of instructions for tending to a gunshot wound.

I just shook my head in disbelief and led her outside to the car.

That's when I realized I was shaking like a leaf.

WCWCWC

Tending to a sick or injured Sara Ellis was ten times worse than being sick or injured myself. I'd gotten a glimpse of what it was like to care for her (or should I say _attempt_ to care for her) when she'd been hurt at work about two years earlier. During a recovery gone bad, she'd suffered a broken arm and a couple of bruised ribs and as if that wasn't enough, we'd only just found out she was pregnant.

Of course, I'd doted on her like I was on steroids. She'd hated it.

This time around, I talked her into letting me change her bandage before bed every night. That gave me a chance to monitor how well the wound was healing and allowed for a certain amount of acceptable doting. As wounds went, I'd seen worse. Thankfully, the bullet had not penetrated the muscle tissue but it had ripped off some skin - almost like a really bad scrape. But still, the thought of what might have happened just wouldn't let go of me… this at a time when I'd been spending much too much time reliving another incident with a loaded gun.

Of course, Sara dismissed it all as poppycock. She hated to show weakness and instead, she concentrated her energy on being royally pissed off at Mitchell Dunlop and making sure he got his comeuppance. This time, Winston Bosch had been a lot less forgiving of his ne'er do well nephew. He had to pay out a significant amount to Mrs. Van Dyke and if there was one thing the guy hated, it was being hit in the pocketbook.

Despite my pleading, Sara refused to miss a single day's work and when she came home the next day, she was fuming even more.

'You're not going to believe this' she told me over dinner. 'The asshole paid off the gun safety instructor to sign a certificate when he never even attended class.'

I gave her a discreet head nod in Hope's direction. She was listening in, mesmerized, trying to figure out what all that smoke was that was coming out of her mom's ears.

'Language…' I muttered under my breath.

'And get this…' she continued, spearing a carrot with so much oomph, the damn thing went soaring across the room. Hope watched in awe, pointing towards the flying object like it was a UFO.

'You remember those notes I asked him to transcribe into my files?'

I nodded. I didn't really remember but I was too scared to tell her so.

'Well, he got one of the secretaries to do it for him and then he took her out to dinner to thank her and here's the clincher. To top it off, he wormed his way into her bed.'

'Wow, what a prince' I mumbled since that seemed like the type of reaction she was looking for.

'Anyway, it's over. Mr. Bosh finally saw reason and he kicked him out. Told him to get a real job and learn to stand on his own two feet.'

She finally took a breath and Hope looked over at me for a reaction. I smiled at her in empathy; there was probably a lifetime of this kind of thing waiting right around the corner for the two of us.

WCWCWC

I had to admit my little hissy fit about Sara leaving her purse in the middle of the place had begun to pay dividends. If I'd known it would get results, I would have thrown a tantrum the very first time I'd tripped over the damn thing. When she came home on Thursday night, I noticed how she took the time to hang it on a hook by the front door before making her way to join me and Hope in the kitchen.

'Hey, look! It's Momma' I called out as Hope clapped her hands in glee.

'Hey! It's my two favourite people' she replied, walking slowly towards us.

She leaned down to kiss Hope and turned towards me to do the same. I saw her wince then smile a little too broadly in an effort to cover it up. She'd been doing her best to fool me but as everybody knows, I'm not an easy guy to fool. I could see the strain on her face, accumulated fatigue from the events of the last few days and some residual pain from her injury. She seemed to think I hadn't noticed she was still walking around with her arm pressed up against her body but hey… what can I say, I'm one observant guy.

'What's going on here?' she asked, noticing Hope was finishing up her meal of mashed potatoes, mushy peas and applesauce.

'I thought we might have dinner just the two of us tonight' I explained with an impish grin. 'After Hope's in bed.'

'Oh yeah?' she replied, her face growing more relaxed.

'Yeah… I've got a little surprise for you' I explained mysteriously.

That seemed to put a more genuine smile on her face. Hope stared up at her mom and clapped her hands, as if she thought she might be getting a surprise too.

I walked over to the kitchen counter and picked up the vodka martini I'd prepared in anticipation of Sara's arrival. I moved in nice and close and placed my hand on her hip, whispering in her ear.

'Why don't you take this upstairs and have it while you change and I'll finish up with Hope.'

She seemed to like my suggestion and her smile grew even more.

'Okay' she said tentatively.

She headed upstairs and I turned back to look at Hope who was observing the whole exchange with wide-eyed curiosity.

'See baby girl' I said, my voice quiet. 'That's how we make Momma happy.'

WCWCWC

Once the house was quiet and Sara had finished throwing back her second drink, we moved to the table where I'd set out the good china and cloth napkins as well as a fine bottle of Italian red - her favourite. It was nothing really, just a little something to set the mood and let her know I'd made a conscious effort.

My wife had had a particularly difficult week at work and I was eager to help smooth out the rough edges. Truth was, since my dinner at the Burkes and my painful confession to Peter, I'd been looking for just the right time to have that little talk with Sara. Without much difficulty, I'd managed to put off the conversation for a couple of days but there was no doubt I needed to get it done before we headed out to the exhibit on Saturday night. There was no way I was bringing Sara into such an emotionally charged situation without giving her a heads up.

Tonight was going to be the night for our little heart to heart.

Okay, you caught me… originally, I _had _thought tonight might be the night to come clean but then, I'd begun to think of other more, shall we say, sensual pursuits and somehow, the two objectives weren't all that compatible. I'd been counting the days and today was —drumroll, please — day thirteen, just about halfway through Sara's cycle. With our recent decision to grow our family, this would be our first opportunity to get to work on our new shared project.

And by work, I mean play.

It was strange to go into the whole procreation exercise knowingly and deliberately this time around. With Hope, as happy as we were with the outcome, we'd never set out intentionally to make a baby. Knowing that our lovemaking had an objective other than simply enjoying each other's company felt strange yet exciting.

'What's this?' she asked as she took a seat at the table and noticed my little surprise.

'I figured we were overdue for a date night' I explained as she opened the envelope I'd left on her plate.

'Anna Koslawski-Peters' she read off the flyer I'd hidden inside. 'Now there's a mouthful.'

I felt a jolt go through my body at the sound of her name.

'She's a photographer' I said, avoiding Sara's gaze. 'I read about her… somewhere. Looks like a breakout artist. I thought we could do dinner first, make a night of it. Peter and El have already offered to take Hope for the night.'

Sara nodded as she read the flyer describing the event. There was an unmistakeable smile on her face.

'And this?' she asked, pointing to the garment bag I'd slung on the back of one the chairs.

'All part of the surprise' I said with a satisfied grin. 'Go ahead, take a look.'

I could see a flash of confusion on her face as she slipped the two outfits out of the garment bag. One was a nice body hugging dress in leopard print that I knew would fit her like a glove, the other a pair of khaki pants and shirt as well as a brown leather belt.

She got that naughty look in her eyes. 'You taking me on a safari Caffrey?' she cooed.

'Sort of' I replied, my voice rough. Just thinking of her in that hot little outfit was already getting me riled up.

She finished reading the flyer advertising the exhibit and glanced at the tickets. I could see she was into it. Unfortunately, she still didn't know what my real motivation was for attending… or the fact that I was still pussyfooting around telling her about said motivation.

It didn't take long for my mind to return to safer, more carnal pursuits. I let my hand linger on her cheek for a moment and _accidentally_ grazed her breast.

As we ate, I could see good old Sara coming back: relaxed, playful, sexy as all hell. She seemed to be thinking along the same lines as I was.

'Did you notice the date?' she mewled, pointing to the calendar hanging on the fridge.

She'd begun running her naked foot up and down my leg under the table, making all rational thought rather difficult.

I faked a look of confusion - just part of the sweet, innocent act.

'The date?' I repeated as I reached under the table and brought her foot up to rest on my lap. 'What do you mean?'

She took advantage of her foot's proximity to my groin to start curling her toes against my junk. I made a small choking sound.

'I could try this on for you' she cooed, pointing to the dress. 'See if it's easy to get in and out of.'

_Painfully difficult conversation vs hot, steamy baby making sex_ my brain chanted again and again as I continued to weigh my options.

'Or we could skip clothes altogether' I suggested, throwing my napkin down on the table and getting to my feet. I reached for her, settling her in my arms and I kissed her hard, feeling her body melt in response to my touch. I took a quick glance at the table to see if anything risked spoiling in the next hour or so and I leaned down, scooping her up in my arms bridal style. She laughed, that wonderful, throaty, relaxed laugh of hers and, without hesitation, I started heading for the stairs.

There were still forty-eight hours left for me to have that little talk with her whereas baby making… well, baby making was a time sensitive undertaking that required not only precision timing but exceptional technique - which I'm happy to report I possess in spades.

In the end, there really was no contest.

WCWCWC

The hostess who welcomed us to the Pot au feu was decked out in a short zebra skirt and matching shoes. I could see that the jungle theme had spread to the waiters and waitresses who were all clad in khaki capris and shirts or blouses including those straw bristol hats traditionally associated with jungle dwellers - at least in the movies.

The gallery had parterned up with the local eatery to promote both the exhibit and the newly opened restaurant — not terribly surprising considering Nicolas Béranger was owner of both establishments.

The restaurant, in an effort to promote the exhibit, was offering a dinner menu with a jungle theme. With a quick glance around the place, I could see several of the diners had taken advantage of the promotion. Some had gone way over the top with outlandish outfits while others, like me and Sara, had gone with more subdued looks with just a touch of jungle whimsy.

As expected, my wife looked incredible and I was already looking forward to the end of the evening when I'd finally get the chance to slip that dress off her supple little body and give her an encore performance of my amazing baby making skills.

'Caffrey…' the hostess repeated as she checked her list. 'Ah yes, you're special guests of Monsieur Béranger.'

Sara and I exchanged glances and I gave her an exaggerated eyebrow wag.

The hostess led us to a smaller, more private dining room at the back of the restaurant. The table she sat us at was without a doubt the best table in the house and I was not so secretly pleased to see that Nick had endeavoured to give us the royal treatment.

'Nice' Sara commented as we settled into our booth. 'So tell me again, how do you know this guy?'

I gave her my world famous shrug/sly smile combo, the one that said _'if you really want to know, I can give you details but I think you already know.'_

'Oh, someone from your time in Europe, huh?'

This was, among so many other things, what I loved about my wife. She knew pretty well everything about my past - perhaps not details but certainly the types of _activities _I'd been involved with prior to my time with the FBI. There was never any need to skate around the issue, duck questions or deflect. She got it… and consequently, she got me.

'Oooh, honey look' I said as I glanced at the menu. 'They've got a special menu just for tonight.'

As an appetizer, they were offering something called a rainbow raw bowl followed by a choice between a Kenyan stew served with ugali, a jungle burrito or a coconut curry. For dessert, the chef had prepared something special just for the occasion: mandazi, a Kenyan delicacy served with rum sauce.

'Wow, that sounds amazing. I sure as hell didn't come here to have a plain old hamburger' Sara exclaimed with her usual deadpan delivery. 'I'm going for the special. What about you?'

'Yeah' I replied enthusiastically. 'Definitely.'

Our waitress arrived with a couple of exotic looking drinks served in coconut shells.

'These are compliment of Monsieur Béranger' she announced, setting them down on the table. 'He says to tell you he looks forward to welcoming you to the gallery.'

I nodded in thanks and glanced around, trying to ascertain the level of privacy we could expect in our little corner of the restaurant. After days of procrastination, I was really up against the clock. I was about to come face to face with Anna Koslawski after almost thirty years and I had absolutely no idea how things were going to play out. I certainly wasn't going to bring Sara into the situation without the benefit of knowing the full story. It was time to come clean and frankly, I was looking forward to unburdening myself. It would be a huge relief and having Sara by my side as I faced the evening was giving me the courage I so badly needed.

Despite my eagerness to open up, I still managed to put off my revelation until dessert. We ate our amazing donut-like pastries and sat back, waiting for the waitress to bring over some coffee.

'This is nice Neal' Sara said. 'You know, we don't do date night nearly often enough.'

I ran my hand languidly across her knuckles and gave her a smile complete with that adorable puppy dog look I'd cultivated and mastered for moments just like this. Following the events from earlier in the week, I was still feeling annoyingly protective of her and whenever she was within arms reach, I felt the urge to be touching her constantly.

She'd been a good sport but I could tell her patience was beginning to wear thin. Although she was not the kind of woman who enjoyed being doted on, she'd willingly conceded that, if the roles had been reversed, she would probably be behaving just as irritatingly attentive as I'd been acting the past few days.

Apparently, I was still looking for excuses to put off the inevitable because instead of beginning to tell my tale, I asked her how her arm was feeling.

The flesh coloured bandage was visible on her arm, considerably smaller than the original one the doctor at the hospital had used.

'Neal, can we please let it go. I've told you a dozen times, it barely grazed me' she replied in that no nonsense voice of hers.

I didn't appreciate her downplaying what had happened. I was living proof that luck wasn't always on your side when it came to handling firearms.

'Sara, three inches to the left and I might be planning your funeral' I reminded her, not for the first time.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. 'Would you please stop overdramatizing. It doesn't even qualify as a flesh wound.'

I looked away, unwilling to engage her while she was still in denial. Besides, I didn't want to be arguing with her on date night. Especially on this date night.

My mind returned to Anna and I felt my heart start to pump a little faster at the realization that, in less than an hour, I would finally be coming face to face with her.

The coffee arrived and I realized I was running out of time. I reached out and took Sara's hand in mine.

'Babe…' I said.

She looked up expectantly. 'What?'

WCWCWC

By the time we'd finished our second cup of coffee, I'd recited the whole sordid tale from beginning to end starting with my friendship with Tim Koslawski, how I'd met his family, his baby sister Anna and finally, the horrible events of the night that had forever changed all our lives. Sara listened without saying a word, stopping only to dab her eyes a couple of times as I laid out the details of what had happened and the memories that still haunted me to this day.

Her eyes rested on the flyer from the exhibit, lying on the table. 'So this isn't just some random opening you're taking me to?' she asked, her voice quiet.

I shook my head but didn't look up. 'I'm sorry I didn't tell you before.'

I felt her hand on mine, soft and warm. 'And you've been keeping this locked up inside all this time.'

'It was just… something from my past, something I couldn't change.'

'And that's why you don't want a gun in the house' she stated flatly.

I shrugged.

'Honey, I'm sorry this happened to the little boy inside you. You must have been so traumatized.'

'It's not _about_ me Sara. It's about Anna. She's the one whose had to live her whole life with the consequences of my actions from that night.'

She kept her hand on mine, the weight helping to keep me anchored. 'Neal, there were a lot of people who had a hand in what happened to that little girl. Her dad, her brother… I'm sure her mom carries around a lot of guilt, probably wondering what would have happened if she'd stayed home that night.'

She was trying really hard to make me feel better but I'd examined the events from every single angle and it always came back to the same thing: what if…

'I've replayed it in my head hundreds of times' I admitted. 'What if I hadn't been there that night, what if I hadn't followed Tim into his parents' bedroom, what if I'd refused to take the gun in my hand, what if I'd heard Anna come into the room…'

'Come on Caffrey. You know better than to go down that rabbit hole. _What ifs_ never amount to any good.'

I nodded. I felt her squeeze my hand reassuringly and my eyes met hers.

'So tell me' she said, her voice quiet. 'What's tonight really about? Are you going there to ask for forgiveness?'

Her question took me by surprise although I'd been asking myself that ever since I'd put in that call to my old pal François. Why had I felt the need to come face to face with the woman whose life I'd had a hand in ruining? Was I hoping to alleviate my guilt? Was I looking for redemption?

'The truth?' I said, searching her eyes. 'I don't know… I don't know what I'm going there to do. I guess I need to see her for myself, see if she's happy with her life, see if she's been able to overcome what happened that night.'

'Is that the guilt talking?'

'I suppose it is. I was shut out from the family after it happened. I wasn't able to see how things played out, if and how she managed to get through it, how she went from that horrible night to… this' I said, pointing to her smiling face on the photograph.

'Are you going to tell her who you are?'

'I don't know' I replied soberly. 'I don't want to upset her. This is a happy occasion for her.'

'Maybe she'll be glad to see you again.'

I scoffed and shook my head. I looked up at Sara's beautiful face, the love in her eyes as she tried valiantly to reassure me.

'It means a lot to me that you're here Repo' I admitted. 'I don't think I could face tonight alone… and I'm sorry I kept it from you for so long.'

She gave me that soft, gentle smile I'd come to know. 'Honey, things happen every single day that we can't explain, that we don't understand. Things that we can't change. Sometimes those things happen for the better… some people come back from horrible events in their lives feeling stronger than ever.'

'And others grow angry and bitter' I countered.

Sara looked down at Anna's smiling face. 'Somehow, this doesn't strike me as a woman who's angry and bitter.'

There was silence for a moment. I felt Sara's soft, silky skin on mine, making things better. Easier.

'What do _you_ think I should do Repo?' I asked. My voice was weak, shaky.

She locked her eyes on mine. 'I can't decide that for you. But Neal, I believe in you, I know you'll do the right thing. And no matter what, I'm here for you and I'll be there for you again tomorrow and the day after that.'

I smiled a sad smile. 'So now you know everything.'

There must have been some tell-tale look on my face because I saw her gaze change as if she'd just realized something.

'You know Neal, what happened to Anna isn't going to happen to Hope' she said reassuringly.

Somewhere deep in my mind, I realized that, unbeknownst to me, that half formed thought had been percolating all along.

'I know that… logically.'

'But it's not about logic, is it?'

I could feel my throat tightening and I swallowed. 'No, it's not.'

There was silence for a moment.

'Sara, I don't want to have a gun in the house' I finally said. I could hear the pleading in my voice.

She nodded and smiled. 'Then, that's how it'll be' she said, her voice soft.

WCWCWC

The gallery was located about three blocks over from the restaurant in the trendy St. George neighbourhood of Staten Island. Galleries had been sprouting up all around there for the past twenty years giving new life to the area. Sara and I decided to work off our dinner and walk over to the gallery. I could feel the tension rising in my body with each new step.

The last thing I wanted was to disrupt what would likely be a very big night for Anna. Sara must have sensed the hesitation in my steps because she slipped her arm in mine as she spoke.

'It's all right Caffrey' she said reassuringly. 'I'm here, you're not alone.'

I felt my shoulders relax at the sound of her voice and squeezed her hand in return.

'I love you' I murmured.

The name of the gallery was spelled out in bright blue neon lights. It was easy to spot, even from a block away. It was just like François to be so ostentatious - the guy didn't have a modest bone in his body.

I pointed and Sara nodded. 'There's still time to pull out you know. Nobody said you have to do this.'

I let out a long slow breath. 'No… I need to do this' I replied.

As we got closer, I could see a bustle of activity through the large pane windows. There were easily fifty to sixty people all milling about and through the glass, I spotted François schmoozing with some of the guests. The sounds coming from inside spilled out onto the street, loud happy voices, cheerful laughter. Everybody had a glass of champagne in their hand as they made their way around the large open space admiring the photographs all around them.

I slowed the pace as we got close to the door, staring ahead as if I was going to my own execution. There was movement, a man stepped aside and there, through the glass, right in my sight line sat Anna surrounded by a group of admirers.

And she had a huge smile on her face.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

'Danny Brooks!'

The name from my long ago past caught me totally off guard as I turned to find a couple walking towards us, the man waving madly as he got closer. If I hadn't just googled him a few days ago, I likely never would have recognized him. He looked… like a man instead of boy but he still had the same mischievous eyes he'd always had.

'Tim!' I called out.

The possibility that I might bump into him here had never even crossed my mind. But it should have. It made perfect sense that he would attend his sister's gallery opening. Why hadn't I been better prepared for this?

He opened his arms to me and I went with it, hugging him warmly as Sara and the woman I knew to be Lynn Koslawski stood nearby, staring at each other.

'Danny, you haven't changed a bit!' he declared, patting me enthusiastically on the back.

'Actually, I go by Neal now, Neal Caffrey' I said, hoping he wouldn't ask for details - at least not while we were standing out in the middle of a busy street.

I saw the question in his eyes but to his credit, he refrained from asking. I was relieved not to have to go into a lengthy explanation as to why I'd left my childhood identity behind.

'Are you here for Anna's opening?' he asked.

I nodded and took a step back, sliding my arm around Sara's waist.

'Yeah, we are. Tim, this is my wife, Sara' I said as she put out her hand. 'Tim and I were friends when we were kids.'

'Friends?' he said. 'What are you talking about? We were _best_ buddies… all through elementary school.'

The pretty blonde woman at his side cleared her throat and stepped forward.

'Hi' she said, putting out her hand. 'I'm Lynn, Tim's wife.'

Of course I already knew who she was; hell, I even knew their kids' names. How creepy was that? Lynn Koslawski smiled at us, looking slightly uncomfortable. I couldn't help but wonder if she knew who 'Danny' was and the part he'd played in changing the Koslawskis' lives all those years ago?

'Nice to meet you both' she said as we shook hands.

The sounds coming from inside the gallery grew louder and all four of us glanced in that direction at the large crowd which was assembled inside.

Lynn looked up at her husband. 'Honey, I guess we should be getting in there. Anna's going to wonder what's keeping us.'

Tim nodded and turned back to look at me.

'I can't believe it's you!' he exclaimed. 'What do you say we meet up for coffee after the opening? I'd love to catch up.'

I glanced at Sara and she nodded her approval.

'That sounds great' was all I could think to say. The minute the words spilled out, I wondered what the hell I was doing. So much for trying to keep a low profile.

The Koslawskis prepared to head in and Tim held the door open for all of us. I signalled that he should go ahead.

'We'll be right in' I mumbled.

My heart was thumping to beat the band. What the hell was I doing here, intruding in this family's lives? Then, a horrible thought crossed my mind. What if Tim and Anna's parents were inside? What if they recognized me or worse yet, what if Tim brought them over to say hi? Tim's greeting had been warmer than I might have reasonably expected but what about his parents? Would they be as happy to see me again after all this time?

I snapped out of it when Sara touched my shoulder. She let her hand linger down the lapel of my shirt and my eyes met hers.

'Whatever crazy scenarios are running around that overactive imagination of yours, stop it now' she said in that take charge voice of hers. 'Everything's going to be fine.'

I must have looked pale because she moved her hand to brush against my cheek and kept her eyes locked on mine.

'Okay?'

I nodded tentatively then more resolutely as I reached for the door handle with one hand and took Sara's hand in mine with the other.

The sounds from inside the gallery which had been somewhat muted through the glass, roared to life. Lively chatter, background music and laughter. Lots of laughter. Before I could get my bearings, François aka Nicolas Béranger appeared out of nowhere to greet us.

'Neal Caffrey!' he shouted over the cacophony of sounds. 'You made it.'

I saw him glance over in Sara's direction - or perhaps I should say leer. He'd always been quite the ladies man and I could see that hadn't changed in the intervening years.

'No!' he said with a raucous laugh. 'You did_ not _get this amazing looking woman to agree to marry you!'

I chuckled politely. 'Sara, honey, this is Franç— Nicolas Béranger' I corrected myself. '…the greatest bullshitter this side of the ocean.'

He grinned and shrugged, trying his best to pour on the charm. I guess he'd interpreted my comment as a compliment— which I suppose it was in the world we both used to live in.

I kept one ear on the conversation as my eyes swept the room, searching for any and all Koslawskis - especially Anna. Now that Tim had spotted me, it was just a matter of time before I came face to face with the other members of his family who were in attendance, including the artist herself.

'It's nice to meet you' I heard Sara say as I stood there, trying to collect myself. I heard her say something about the meal, how lovely it had been, how the jungle themed exhibition had been a great idea… but I was only half listening, my attention focussed on the dozens of faces around us, searching for one in particular.

'Didn't we Neal?' I heard Sara conclude as she slipped her arm in mine.

I snapped back into the conversation seamlessly.

'It was amazing' I replied, not quite sure what the hell she'd been talking about. I must have been close to the mark because both Sara and Nicolas nodded and smiled.

'You must be doing pretty well for yourself' I told my old friend looking around the impressive gallery. 'This place is incredible.'

He gloated and continued to stare appreciatively at my wife, practically undressing her with his eyes. It was my own fault for buying her such a hot looking dress. I glanced around the open space. Whatever Nicolas usually had on his walls had been replaced by amazing photographs depicting the people and wildlife of Kenya. There was a mix of colour and black and white photography, every single piece a unique and in-depth study of its subject.

'Why don't you let me show you around' the gallery owner said to Sara as she took his arm.

I watched them go off on their own, Nicolas doing his best to charm the pants off my wife. Meanwhile, I continued to search the room with my eyes, trying my best to locate Anna who had disappeared from where I'd last seen her a moment before. I'd begun to stroll around the room, admiring the many pieces from Anna's collection when, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted her again in the middle of a small cluster of admirers. Amongst the group, I spotted a familiar looking man standing by her side. He looked to be about my age, maybe a little younger and it took but a moment to place him as the guy I'd seen on Anna's Facebook page - her husband, Connor. He was good looking, tall, with dark blond hair and an expensive suit with a leopard handkerchief sticking out of his jacket pocket. His hand rested on her shoulder and every once in a while, she would pat it lovingly and give him a glowing smile.

I positioned myself to keep her in my sights, trying my best to assess her mindset. There was an undeniable look of pride on her face, a giddiness about her. And why the hell not? She had every reason to be proud. She was the main attraction, the sole architect of the amazing collection of works surrounding us.

Surprisingly - and somewhat shamefully - I felt an unexpected twinge of envy at her success. Since Hope had come into our lives, I'd given up on copying the greats, concentrating my efforts on sketches, drawings and paintings of Hope in all kinds of situations. As a wedding gift, Sara had given me all I could possibly need to set up a studio right at home and we'd dedicated our third bedroom to that end - a perk which would be the envy of any budding artist. I spent countless hours in there working — with Sara and Hope as my main inspirations. I'd produced a surprising number of original pieces: mostly oils, some watercolour, countless charcoal sketches. As my stash grew, I'd begun to nurture the dream that someday, I might show off my works with an exhibition of my own. It seemed like a crazy idea but seeing Anna's successful display all around me had me wondering.

Her work was truly spectacular. She had a discriminating eye and a talent for seeing straight into her subjects' souls. Painting a live subject or sketchig from a photograph was one thing but photography required the kind of patience I, as an artist, had never had. You had to get just the right light, just the right look on your subject's face and it was obvious that Anna Koslawski possessed the patience and concentration to deliver gorgeous photographs.

She had captured the many faces of the people of Kenya, some dressed in ceremonial garb with amazing colours. But she hadn't shied away from showing the underbelly of the country with unabashed images depicting its social inequalities. Amongst the images were a fair number of older, more mature subjects whose weathered faces spoke of long, physically demanding lives and confidence and wisdom that only came with age. She'd also captured breathtaking landscapes and all manners of wildlife, big and small, from long-necked giraffes and majestic felines to minuscule bugs I'd never even heard of before. Her animal subjects were photographed in a variety of settings: thundering through the tundra, grazing in fields, in groups or individually, out and about in magnificent settings or up close and personal.

I stood in front of a piece that had caught my eye: an incredible black and white shot of a lion, his splendid mane blowing in the wind as his playful baby cub perched on his head.

Sara appeared, holding a couple of glasses of champagne.

I gave her a playful grin. 'I see you managed to tear yourself away from Nicolas - or was it the other way around?'

'He's quite the charmer, that's for sure' she chuckled.

I took the glass of champagne from her hand. 'Look at this' I said, pointing to the photograph I'd been admiring.

'It's beautiful' she agreed.

She stood a moment in admiration then she leaned in closer to speak in my ear.

'You all right Caffrey?' she asked.

I nodded.

'I bumped into Tim over there' she said, pointing towards the back of the gallery. 'He says there's someone who'd really like to see you.'

I felt my heart skip a beat as I glanced in the direction Sara had just come from. I could see Tim and his wife chatting with a group of people and I began to scrutinize the faces one by one. I felt my breathing start to falter as a pair of familiar eyes glanced in my direction.

There she stood, amongst the many patrons, a dignified, older woman, eyes bright and clear and a smile I would recognize anywhere.

'Come on honey' Sara coaxed, taking my hand. 'It's going to be fine.'

WCWCWC

'She is something else' Elizabeth whispered as she and Peter stood watching Hope sleep.

Peter had that goofy look on his face — the one he usually got whenever their goddaughter was anywhere nearby.

'Thanks for coming to my rescue' he murmured.

El shrugged. 'You've got to learn to set some limits honey.'

Hope had been demanding a fourth reading of _'Where the Wild Things Are'_ when El had stepped in, insisting it was time for bed. Hope's bottom lip had been quivering and Peter had begun to panic that she might have a meltdown. He wanted to give this precious little girl the world and he'd do just about anything to make sure she got it.

'You know she's not going to love you any less if you say no to her from time to time' El reminded her husband.

Peter kept staring at Hope, her thumb secure in her mouth, looking so sweet and innocent.

'She's not stupid you know, she knows she can play you like a violin' El added.

Peter kept staring down at his goddaughter as she snoozed, a wistful smile on his face. 'Don't you think there should be at least one person in the world who thinks you're absolutely perfect… a person who's willing to move heaven and earth just for you.'

Peter's arm rested around his wife and he felt a soft tremor.

'I'm sorry honey' he murmured. 'I know how much you would have loved —'

She cut him off by placing her hand on his chest. 'Don't… please. Let's just be thankful we have this little one in our lives. Let's not linger on what might have been.'

Peter pulled her close. No matter what she said so reassure him, he knew El would always be disappointed about how things had played out for them. In some ways, it was hard to watch Neal and Sara fall accidentally into parenthood when she'd prayed for it for so long - and yet, having Hope in their lives had helped fill the inevitable void.

'She's beautiful' El murmured, arms wrapped around Peter's waist.

Peter kissed the top of her head. 'You ready for an early night, Mrs. Burke?'

'I thought you'd never ask, Mr. Burke.'

WCWCWC

People change over the years, there's no denying that. Hair fades to grey and begins to thin, wrinkles appear, energy wanes and gait becomes less steady. But the essence of a person never changes and the moment I laid eyes on Mrs. Koslawski, a slew of happy memories came flooding back. She'd always been nothing but kind towards the lost little boy who had wondered where he fit into the world.

That kindness was still apparent in her eyes to this day.

I followed Sara as we neared the group, my legs rubbery beneath me. Tim's eyes rose to meet mine.

'Danny!' he said again, tripping up with my name. 'You remember my mom.'

I was suddenly back in the Koslawski kitchen, sitting there at the table while she dished out a bowl of Thursday night spaghetti and placed it in front of me. I could hear Anna giggling beside me, Tim brooding that she was being a pain in the ass. The sights and sounds were so clear, I had to swallow the lump in my throat.

'Mrs. Koslawski…' I said, my voice uneven.

Her smile was warm and friendly and left no doubt that she was happy to see me. She took a step forward and brought her arms up around my neck, pulling me in for a nice long hug. She felt so tiny and fragile in my arms. When I was eight-years-old, she'd seemed so big and strong.

'Danny!' she whispered in my ear. 'You look wonderful dear.'

I stepped away, feeling as if a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. For years, I'd wondered how she felt about me, if she'd blamed me for what had happened. With a warm hug, she'd managed to erase all my doubts and fears.

My eyes were drawn to the name tag she'd stuck to her blouse.

_'__Hello my name is Joy'_ it read in bright red marker.

When I was a kid, it had never even occurred to me that Mrs. Koslawski _had _a first name. She was just…Mrs. Koslawski, the kind, generous and loving mom of my best buddy Tim. It struck me that I knew nothing about her: her interests, her desires, her fears, her hopes, her dreams.

'When Tim said you were here, I just couldn't believe it' she gushed.

I smiled back, unable to speak. She glanced in Sara's direction. 'Is this your…' she let the words trail.

'Sorry. Yes, this is Sara, my wife' I blurted out, pulling Sara closer to me.

'Hi' Sara said with that brilliant smile of hers that always made things better. 'It's so nice to meet you.'

I watched her for a brief moment, my heart bursting with love. She was my rock and not for the first time, I asked myself what I'd done to deserve such an amazing woman in my life.

'I've wondered so many times what became of you' the older woman said. 'After the accident, everything changed and I lost track of you. I'm sorry about that.'

I couldn't believe my ears. I had been complicit in bringing anguish and grief into her life and she was apologizing to _me_?

I felt suddenly tongue tied. 'I…I…' I stuttered, unable to put a coherent thought together.

Sara came to my rescue. Again.

'You must be so proud of your daughter' she said. 'She's an amazing photographer.'

'She's always had an interest in photography' Mrs. Koslawski said, glancing around the gallery. 'But I had no idea it could lead to something like this… we're pretty simple folks, aren't we Timmy?' she added, glancing at her son.

I picked up on just a shadow of an eye roll from Tim - perhaps annoyance at being referred to by the diminutive name of an eight-year old boy.

'I don't know much about art galleries I'm afraid' she continued, looking at Sara. 'It took me forever to find something to wear for tonight.'

'Well, you look lovely' Sara said, gracious as always.

'I told you Mom, you look great' added her daughter-in-law with a pat on the older woman's arm.

'Well, I can tell you one thing, your dad would have hated all this hoopla' Joy Koslawski added. 'But he would have been so proud of Anna.'

I felt a sudden wave of sadness. It seemed Mr. Koslawski had passed away. I was curious about the circumstances surrounding his passing but this was neither the time nor the place to ask for details.

Mrs. Koslawski threaded her arm in mine and I felt a surge of relief. 'Have you had a chance to talk to Anna yet. She'll be so excited to see you again.'

The tightness in my chest returned. 'She loved you, you know that? Whenever you came over to our house, her eyes would light up and she'd say your name over and over again.'

I had a sudden recollection of Anna chanting my name as Tim and I returned from school. It had always put a smile on my face and it was doing so again, thirty years later.

I glanced over my shoulder at Sara as Mrs. Kowalski pulled me away, ostensibly to take me over to see Anna. I could feel my heart thumping away in my chest. She took a detour and pointed me in the direction of one of the photographs on display.

'Oh, I want to show you my favourite one' she said, pulling me along. 'Look at this Danny…'

She stopped in front of the portrait of an older woman with intelligent eyes and skin like leather. The old lady was sitting by the edge of the water on what looked like a large tree stump with a woven basket of dirty clothes next to her. She was bent over as she scrubbed a piece of clothing against a rock. Anna had captured her face as the woman glanced up at the camera for a brief instant, her eyes a mirror of what had likely been a difficult life.

'Look at her eyes' Mrs. Koslawski said. 'It's as if she's telling you her whole life story with just one look.'

I patted her hand which was still tucked into my arm. 'You're right, it's like you can see all the way into her soul.'

A man walked by and Mrs Koslawski called out to him. 'Connor! Connor! Come here, there's someone I want you to meet.'

I recognized him as the man I'd seen standing by Anna's side earlier. He stopped directly in front of us, waiting for an introduction.

'This is Danny Brooks' Mrs. Koslawski said as I put out my hand. 'He was Anna's first love.'

Connor Peters and I both laughed as we shook hands. 'That's quite the introduction' I said. 'It's nice to meet you.'

He nodded. 'I've heard all about you over the years from Mrs. K, here' he said.

The tightness in my chest returned as I waited for him to continue. Was he about to point out my role in putting the woman he loved in a wheelchair for the rest of her life?

He winked at Mrs. Koslawski. 'There's nothing quite like your mother-in-law going on and on about your wife's first crush to boost your ego' he said with a wink.

Mrs. Koslawski grew a bright shade of red and gave her son-in-law a playful tap on the arm. 'For heaven's sake Connor, she was two-years-old' she said as if we needed reminding. 'But her face used to light up whenever Danny came into the room.'

She turned to me. 'You were always so sweet to her. I remember trying to get dinner on the table while keeping an eye on her. You would sit with her, play with her, keep her busy. Back then, it was a godsend, believe me.'

Was it a godsend that I accidentally shot your daughter and altered her life forever? I couldn't help but reflect. I shook off the morbid thought.

I couldn't help but notice that so far, there had been no mention of the events of that night or the fact that Anna had been sentenced to spending her life in a wheelchair. Granted, it had happened a long time ago but it struck me that, for all of them, it was as if it wasn't even an issue.

'There you are' came a woman's voice. 'I was looking for you.'

I turned to find Anna coming up behind us, her eyes on her husband. She was beautiful, the same big brown inquisitive eyes, the long flowing dark tresses, the warm, sweet smile. I could even hear her unrestrained laughter ringing in my ears from all those years ago.

She looked up at her mother who had her arm laced in a strange man's arm and I could see her studying me, trying to figure out who I was. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again as if unsure what to say.

Next to her, I could see Connor and Mrs. Koslawski exchanging glances then Anna spoke up.

'Danny?' she said tentatively. 'Is that you?'

I felt a giant lump in my throat, momentarily unable to speak. She'd been just a toddler back then, there was no way she could possibly recognize me after all these years.

I let out a shaky breath and took a step forward.

'Oh, my God, it _is_ you' she said, reaching out to touch my hand.

I think I let out a nervous giggle but I'm not certain. Thoughts and emotions were blurring my mind and I might have blinked back a tear.

'Hi Anna!' I finally managed to say.

'After we moved away, my mom would show me pictures of the little boy who used to come over to our house to play with Tim and would end up playing with me' she said, her eyes still studying me.

'You haven't changed at all, you still have those same incredible blue eyes.'

I shrugged, beginning to relax. 'And you look amazing' I said.

She opened her arms and I leaned down to hug her, feeling somewhat awkward.

Connor cleared his throat. 'Husband standing right here!' he said with a chuckle as Anna reached for his hand.

I felt awkward and stood, my eyes returning to the myriad of photographs surrounding us. 'Anna, your work is incredible' I said.

She smiled and I could see the pride in her eyes. There was a bit of a commotion as Nicolas appeared with an older couple.

'These lovely people here were wondering if they could get a picture with the artist?' he asked as the couple hovered.

I took a step back as did Mrs. Koslawski and Connor. I saw him wink at his wife - probably some inside joke - and she smiled back.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

We found a trendy little café a couple of doors down from the gallery and before we'd even settled in, Sara and Lynn excused themselves to go freshen up. Mrs. Koslawski had decided to call it a night and Tim had put her in a cab and sent her off to their hotel, promising to follow shortly.

'So…' he said, the moment we were alone. 'I'm dying to know. What's with the name change?'

I looked away, somewhat ill at ease. 'It's a long story' I mumbled.

That didn't seem to deter Tim in the least. 'You don't know my wife' he said. 'It'll take her forever to touch up her hair and make-up.'

Although Danny Brooks hadn't been a part of my life in ages, encountering people from my past had triggered memories of my youth and just how difficult my life had been back then. My mom had been struggling with her own demons, leaving me to fend for myself much of the time. It had been a sad, lonely existence but I'd never shared just how painful it was with anyone, including Tim.

'I was two years old when we moved to St. Louis' I said, deliberately leaving things vague. 'When I got older, I found out that my mom and I had been relocated there as part of the Federal Witness Protection Program. Something to do with my dad's job as a cop…'

Tim's eyes narrowed as he tried to follow what I was saying. I had no intention of sharing the fact that my father had been arrested for being a cop on the take and that he'd been accused of killing a fellow police officer. I concentrated on giving Tim a bare bones explanation for my name change - frankly that was all I could handle right now.

'Neal is my real name but when we went into WITSEC, I was given a different identity.'

'Danny Brooks…'

I nodded. 'Yeah, Danny Brooks… so when I left St. Louis, I just took back my name, that's all.'

I refrained from telling him that my last name had been Bennett and that once I'd fully understood my father's crimes, I'd rejected both him and his name and I'd made the decision to use my mother's maiden name instead.

'Wow! I had no idea' Tim said.

'So your dad…' I began, eager to change the subject. 'He passed away?'

'About nine years ago… from a heart attack.'

'I'm sorry' I said although it felt like such an inadequate thing to say.

'He spent his life blaming himself for what happened to Anna - and he blamed me. Our relationship never really recovered.'

I could see the regret in his eyes. 'He started to drink heavily until… well, I guess in the end the guilt finally ate him up.'

I shook my head. 'How did you cope… I mean with what happened?'

'I carried around a lot of guilt for a really long time. But Mom… she was amazing. She's always been a glass half full kind of person. She just carried on, did what she needed to do to make sure Anna and I had the best childhood possible. She kept reminding us that we couldn't change the past, that we could choose to be bitter and angry or we could live our lives the best way we knew how.'

'She and Dad… it was never any good between them after that night but Mom was determined not to let what had happened to Anna ruin our lives.'

'So, Anna knows… about what happened that night?'

Tim nodded as he stared down at his coffee cup. 'Mom insisted on there being no secrets between us.'

'You know… for the longest time, I carried around a lot of guilt too' I admitted. 'After it happened, I used to walk down your street to catch a glimpse of Anna. I still feel terrible about my part in what happened.'

Tim leaned in, his eyes dark. 'It was an accident Danny. We were a couple of stupid kids who got carried away and ended up making a giant mess of things. When Anna came out of the hospital, she was just a baby really. It wasn't always easy for her but she grew up knowing nothing else.'

He paused for a moment as the waitress returned to refill our coffee cups.

'Anna's just like Mom. Nothing fazes her. She says she was dealt this hand and she's determined it's not going to keep her from doing whatever the hell she wants to do with her life.'

I listened, fascinated by Anna's optimism and resiliency.

'Is she… happy?'

Tim smiled. 'Dude, she's _so_ happy it drives me crazy. She started taking pictures when she was about eight-years-old. It became a passion for her, a way for her to see the world through the same lens as everybody else. Growing up, she played sports, she was on the regional wheelchair basketball team all through high school and she was fierce. Nothing stopped her, she was determined to live her life no matter what. I don't think I've ever heard her complain once about being in the chair. If someone told her she couldn't do something, she would just plow ahead and do it anyway even if she didn't have a particular interest in doing it.'

I chuckled.

'Once when she was about nineteen, she got it in her head she wanted to go skydiving. My dad was dead set against it but Mom and I went behind his back and helped her find a place that would take her up. Man, you should have seen her face… she was so happy. She is the most determined person I've ever met and when she met Connor, they decided they wanted to travel the world so she started bringing her camera along everywhere she went.'

The knot in my stomach started to loosen and I let out a long slow breath. I didn't want to be indiscreet but I couldn't help but ask.

'Will she… can she have children?'

'Doctor says there's no reason she can't' Tim replied. 'She and Connor have a five-year-plan… more travelling and then they want to start a family.'

'What about your mom? Is she still living in Cleveland?' I asked.

'No. I finally convinced her to sell the house and come live closer to us in Lansing. I found her a nice condo just a couple of streets over from our place. That way, she can see the kids whenever she wants.'

'Tell me about your kids' I said with a straight face - although I already knew their names and ages from having creeped him online. If only he knew just how resourceful Neal Caffrey could be.

'Our son Michael is six, he's a great kid, really into soccer and hockey. And my daughter…' he continued as he pulled out a photograph, '…she's my little princess. Her name is Lindsay and she starts school next year.'

I looked down at the picture and smiled. Both kids were looking a little older than in the photograph I'd found on his company's website.

'Do you and Sara have kids?'

'We do' I said, pulling out a picture of Hope. 'Her name is Hope, she's going to be fourteen months old in a few days.'

I must have been smiling like an idiot because Tim grinned at the sight of me.

'She's beautiful' he said. 'It sure changes your life, doesn't it?'

'You're not kidding.'

He chuckled. 'Who knew when we were in Mrs. Dean's third grade class chasing girls around with garter snakes that we'd eventually stop thinking they were yucky and that we'd both end up being dads.'

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the women returning from the ladies room and pointed, my eyes lingering for a moment on my gorgeous wife looking particularly sexy in the hot little number I'd gotten her.

'Not yucky at all' I said with a grin.

We caught up for the next hour or so. Lynn and Sara made small talk, the way women do and Tim told me all about his job in real estate. Lynn was just preparing to return to work as a school teacher after a couple of years off to be home with their kids. They were both fascinated by what Sara did for a living and my lovely wife threw in a couple of harrowing anecdotes about some of her more exciting recoveries just to keep the conversation interesting. Lynn thought it was great that I was home with Hope and deplored the fact that more men weren't stay at home dads.

We were just about to call it a night when Connor and Anna appeared at the door to the café.

'Here she is!' Tim declared as he got to his feet. 'The star of the show.'

The newcomers joined us and ordered something to eat. Anna had been too nervous to eat before the opening and she was starved. The show had been a success both artistically and financially. She seemed genuinely surprised that her photographs had appealed to so many.

'She sold thirty-eight pieces!' Connor said with pride.

Anna looked away self-deprecatingly and Sara pointed to a brown paper package at her feet - a photograph of a herd of giraffes she'd picked up for Hope's room.

'Your work is truly amazing' she said to Anna who, I'm pretty sure, was blushing.

I was feeling uncharacteristically awkward but Anna made it easy, perhaps sensing my trepidation. I could feel her eyes on me, scrutinizing me.

'I can't say I remember all that much from back then' she explained. 'But as I grew up, my mom would tell me the story of the little boy who would come over to our house and play with me while she tried to get dinner on the table. Tim wasn't very interested in having a baby sister back then…'

'Hey, hey, hey!' Tim said with a laugh, throwing his arm around his sister's shoulder and hugging her.

'He was more interested in cars and trains and not so much in keeping a whiny two-year-old happy… not that I can blame him.'

She stopped and kissed her brother's cheek. Whatever distance there might have been between them back them was obviously a thing of the past.

'Mom would tell me how you'd sit and play patty cake with me, give me toys to keep me busy while you guys played with the big boy toys… She said you were the most patient, kindest little boy she'd ever met. She had this picture she'd taken of you at one of Tim's birthday parties and believe it or not, I used to keep it in my room… I just remember feeling happy whenever Mom told me the story.'

This time there was no doubt about it. I could feel tears welling up and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. It all came rushing back - how her sweet innocence had been destroyed by a stray bullet.

'Anna, I'm so sorry… about everything.'

She moved in closer to me. 'There's nothing to be sorry about' she murmured, leaning in to speak softly. 'It was… just a horrible accident. I don't even remember life before this chair.'

I felt Sara's hand resting on my back, anchoring me as she'd been doing all night. I silently begged her not to stop. The emotions were coursing through my veins faster than I could process them.

Anna continued. 'Whenever I think of that period of my life, all I can remember is living in our house with Mom and Dad and Tim, feeling safe and happy. I try to focus on that.'

I don't know what came over me but I hugged her and she hugged me back. We were two people joined together by a tragic, senseless accident - one riddled with guilt and remorse, the other bursting with understanding and forgiveness.

We talked about staying in touch but, somewhere, we both knew it wasn't going to happen. Time passes and people change leaving behind the past - all except for the bittersweet memories that stay with us for the rest of our lives.

WCWCWC

Sara was surprised to be summoned to her boss' office now that Mitch Dunlop was finally out of her hair. She was still getting back on her feet following the shooting incident the week before but she was keenly aware that she'd been responsible for inadvertently destroying Mrs. Van Dyke's precious sculpture.

Generally speaking, Winston Bosch only had two dispositions: cranky and ornery or downright pissed off. She wasn't sure what she was dealing with as she took a seat across from him.

'I wanted to tell you I spoke with Mrs. Van Dyke. She's perfectly happy with the settlement.'

'Again sir… I'm sorry about what happened.'

Winston Bosch shrugged. 'Not half as sorry as I am for dumping my numbskull nephew on you.'

Sara sighed; apparently the boss wasn't as upset with her as she'd feared.

'Sara, you've been a good sport, taking on Mitch like that. I know he can be a real self-involved son of a bitch and I'm sorry about…'

He pointed to her arm but Sara shrugged it off. 'It's fine sir. No real harm done.'

'Still… I've been looking at caseloads and I'd like to give you a couple of high profile clients' he said, glancing at a sheet of paper. 'I thought you might like to take on Mr. Mirsky for one.'

Sara's eyes grew in surprise. Shawn Mirsky was one of their most high profile clients. As a matter of fact, up until her maternity leave, she had always been the one to deal with him.

'That would be great… but isn't he on Ross' caseload?'

'Not anymore' the man said.

Sara fought to keep from smiling.

'And we have a new client coming in from the West Coast who's going to need some special handling. You'd be perfect for the job.'

Sara had heard rumours about the high tech mogul who was looking to have his personal collection of antique guns insured. 'You mean Terrence Ashby?'

'I see word gets around' Bosch said. 'He's… demanding' he said, obviously a euphemism for something less flattering. 'I know you have what it takes to reel him in.'

Sara sat up straight. This time she couldn't help but smile.

'Yes, of course. That would be great.'

Bosch reached into his desk and pulled out an envelope. 'I know the recovery didn't go as planned but I felt that, in light of events, you shouldn't be denied your commission.'

Sara stood and reached out to take the envelope. 'Thank you sir' she said.

What she was really thinking was that she should probably get shot more often.

Mr. Bosch looked away - shorthand for _this meeting is over_. 'When you get back downstairs, can you send Ross Greene up?' he asked.

'Sure thing!' Sara said. 'It'll be my pleasure.'

WCWCWC

Hope and I had been practicing her fancy shmancy walking skills for the past twenty minutes or so. I followed a few steps behind, ready to catch her if need be as she toddled along the sidewalk in front of our house… down two houses towards the Masons' place then back to our driveway and back again. She was getting pretty steady on her feet although she still had the odd tumble whenever she got overexcited and started to run off without first getting her balance.

I watched her take off, giggling as she increased her speed and tried to get away from me. I swept in and scooped her up in my arms, tickling her and grinning from ear to ear as she screamed with joy. There was no better sound in the whole wide world.

Ever since my encounter with the Koslawskis, I'd felt a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. There would always be sadness and regret for my part in what had transpired but knowing that Anna was living a full life had been a huge relief.

Peter had called and asked if I'd agree to give him a hand on a case - no phoney baloney mortgage fraud this time, an honest to goodness forgery case with which he needed my help. Sara had encouraged me to accept and I'd reluctantly agreed to start looking for a part-time sitter for Hope - only a day or two a week, mind you. I was looking forward to working with my ex-handler again. I had to admit my wife had been right - balance is good in all things even parenting.

'Oh no you don't!' I said to my daughter as I lifted her shirt and blew a raspberry on her round belly.

She giggled louder and so did I. It was a moment to cherish, to tuck away in the corners of my mind for another day.

'You want to go get your stroller so we can go to the park?' I whispered in her ear.

She kicked the air, letting me know she wanted to keep walking.

'More!' she cried out, her bright blue eyes full of mischief.

She gave me a pouty look, her cheeks puffed up and she shook her head from side to side, trying to make me laugh.

'Park!' she shouted as if changing her mind.

'Well, we can't do both, sweet pea. The park is too far to walk. But we can get your stroller if you want to go. Mommy won't be home for another hour.'

'Walk!' she repeated as I let out a sigh. Was she playing me or was she not understanding what I was trying to explain. Even at the tender age of fourteen months, she'd developed a wicked sense of humour which always kept us guessing.

I was about to try my luck at explaining it again when I heard my name being called from up the street. I glanced over my shoulder and spotted Charlie Stevens waving his arms wildly and doing his best imitation of a jog towards me. To be honest, I didn't think Charlie had seen the inside of a gym since the turn of the century. His face was flushed and he seemed out of breath as he called out again.

'NEAL!'

I turned in the direction of his voice and Hope slipped out of my arms. I held her hand as Charlie got closer, breathing hard.

'Charlie! What's up?'

'I was… I was looking out our kitchen window and I saw a couple of kids trying to get into the Taylor house… you know… the one behind our place.'

I picked Hope up in my arms to keep her from straying. 'Did you get a good look at them?'

'Not really, they had those hoodie things on their heads.'

I looked at Hope then back at Charlie, trying to decide on the best course of action.

'Here' I said, placing Hope in his arms. I pointed to our house. 'Take Hope inside and call Adam Woods. Get him to send over a cruiser. Right now. I'm going to see if I can hold them off until they get here.'

He nodded. Hope looked up at Charlie, then at me, unsure what was going on. I could see her bottom lip start to quiver - a certain sign that she was about to start crying. I kissed her forehead and broke out into a run away from the two of them and towards the Stevens' place.

'Give her some juice and she'll be okay' I shouted over my shoulder.

I could hear Hope crying as I slid in between our place and the Stevens' house. There was a fence on our side and I crept along it until I got to the back of the house. The Stevens' yard was open at the back, save for a couple of bushes separating their yard from the neighbours on the street behind. I craned my neck and peered into the back door of the Taylor place. I could see the profile of two guys against the sun streaming through from the front of their house. At first blush, it looked like the same two guys I'd found snooping around our place. I took a few steps to get a better look, electing to stay far enough away so they wouldn't spot me. If they found me there, it was a sure bet they'd make a run for it.

I couldn't hear Hope's voice any more - Charlie must have brought her inside. From my vantage point, I could see into our kitchen and I spotted Hope in her high chair sipping juice while Charlie talked on the phone.

The precinct was about ten minutes away but with any luck maybe one of the cruisers was already on the streets nearby. Adam had been good about patrolling at this time of day. I saw Charlie take a few steps towards the large bay window in our kitchen and give me a thumbs up.

Up ahead through the bushes, I could see some commotion in the house as the thieves began to rummage around. I saw one of them tinkling with the television in what looked like the family room while the other was momentarily out of my sight. I stood quietly, not moving, just keeping them in sight and hoped the police would arrive before I had to confront them.

WCWCWC

'Awww, poor baby…' Sara said as she placed a bandage on my forehead.

I shrugged, making light of the situation. To be honest, having her fawn all over me wasn't really all that bad.

'You could have been hurt…'

'I… I _was_ hurt' I reminded her with a pout.

'I mean _really_ hurt.'

Considering she was still recovering from a bullet graze, I had to concede that she had me beat on that score.

'I wasn't expecting him to be that strong.'

'Neal, he was a seventeen year old kid built like a linebacker. It's amazing he didn't hit you harder.'

The phone rang and I reached for it, putting the phone to my ear as Sara continued to fuss.

'We got the other guy' came Adam Woods' voice. 'The guy you tackled was only too happy to give up his buddy.'

'That's great' I replied.

Sara was running her hands through my hair and I let out a soft moan.

'We've already recovered some of the stolen stuff.'

I sighed - whether in response to his comment or to the feel of Sara's nails against my scalp I'm not sure.

'Good job Neal! I knew we picked the right guy to head up our neighbourhood watch program.'

I shrugged - not that he could see me.

'Just don't play the hero all right? You could have been seriously hurt.'

'It's all good' I said, letting my hands linger down my imaginary Superman shirt.

We said goodbye and suddenly Sara was settling in my lap, petting me as if I were a brand new puppy.

'Now who's doting on who?' I said, pulling her into me with a smile.

'I think that's more than enough excitement for today, don't you?'

She made a move to stand up and I held her back.

'Hey, where do you think you're going?'

'I'm going to see what that mystery parcel is' she said, pointing to the package that had been left on our doorstep while I'd been out saving the world.

WCWCWC

Once in bed with Sara in my arms, I began to truly relax. She was finally on the mend and she seemed happy with how things had played out at work, Mozzie had been thrilled if not surprised to get his commission, Hope was mastering the art of walking and would soon be running circles around us and I was about to challenge myself by partnering up with my best friend to solve an honest to goodness crime.

I reached down and placed my hand on Sara's flat belly, rubbing gently.

She laughed. 'Caffrey, what are you doing?'

I shrugged. 'Maybe you're already pregnant' I whispered in her ear as I let my hand linger.

She rolled her eyes and looked up in the direction of our new acquisition. 'I can't believe she did this' she said.

I reached over and picked up the note which had accompanied the framed photograph that had been delivered earlier and was now hanging on the wall in our room.

_'Dear Danny'_ it read. _'I heard you liked this one… In a way, it reminds me of you and me, the strong protective poppa lion and his baby cub. That's how you used to make me feel, safe and secure. All the best to you and Sara. Anna K-P'_

'It's like that empty spot on the wall was just waiting for it' I commented.

Sara looked up into my eyes and grinned.

'What?' I said, frowning.

She climbed onto my lap and leaned down to kiss me. I let out a deep groan in reaction to the pleasant sensation.

'You know I've been thinking it might take a few tries before I get pregnant' she said seductively.

'What are you talking about? You've been making out with Super-stud.'

She groaned. 'Seriously?'

I tried to play coy. 'Anyway, I think that ship has sailed for this month, don't you?'

'What? You've never heard of practice makes perfect?' she replied, kissing me again.

I had actually.

I responded to the kiss with one of my own and reflected on how this happened to be just another one of those situations where my wife was absolutely right.

La fin


End file.
